


The Shackled Ice

by hoodedmage



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Battle, College of Winterhold - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Politics, War, Winterhold (Elder Scrolls)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 78,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoodedmage/pseuds/hoodedmage
Summary: The world turns against Winterhold, and the skies turn dark. A hold stands against a nation. Allies are summoned and armies made. Blood freezes on the ice, and fear freezes the hearts of men.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. One

Ice and bones crunched underneath Fornice's boots as she stomped her way down the winding tunnels of The Chill. It was two-thirty in the morning, and she was not a happy woman. Her brown hair stuck up at all angles, despite her best attempts to tame it in the scant few minutes she had to get ready. The bags under her eyes betrayed her need of sleep, but those were the only things. Her stride was long and confident, and her robes, cloak and hood were immaculately neat and tidy, despite the harsh wind that had attempted to knock her over during her long march from the College down to The Chill. She held a torch high and far from her cloak. After an accident several months ago, she never let flames get anywhere near her fur trimmed attire. An aged man with a white beard struggled to keep up with her long stride. He wore more simple clothes than Fornice, but his air demanded the same respect. He held his torch high, more to do with the fact that The Chill gave him the creeps and he wanted to see as much as possible so nothing could sneak up on him, than the fact that he wanted to keep his clothes unlit.

After several moments of rambling through the ice cave, the pair emerged into a well lit cavern with a pillar of ice in the centre supporting the roof, also made of ice. Light reflected off everything in the room, the blue roof and pillar, so smooth yet with so many dents and grooves that the light shone and glittered in scattered patterns. The occasional bleach white skeleton offered a contrast to the predominant blue, and Fornice tried not to wonder who they used to be.

Tolfdir, the old man, stopped and looked around. An unpleasant sense of nostalgia crept over him as he remembered the three months he had spent in that very room when he was young.

Three cages sat in the room, two relatively near each other, and another slightly apart from the rest. Fornice was already half way across the room before Tolfdir snapped out of his daze and raced after her, but, before he managed to take more than two steps, a huge behemoth of frost, snow and ice stepped out infront of him. Tolfdir yelled and back pedalled himself up against a wall. Fornice turned around looking wide eyed for the danger, her eyes wide and fearful. After a few seconds of confusement, she relaxed and simply looked at Tolfdir with one of her famous 'I-am-not-best-pleased-with-you' looks.

''Tolfdir, how many times do I have to tell you that the Frost Atronach's will only attack escaped prisoners?'' She said, with her scowl turning into an amused grin.

''No need to talk to me like a child, Fornice. He simply caught me by suprise,'' he said while standing up, patting the Atronach.

''Yes, old man. How could I ever think of you as a child?'' She said.

''No need to be rude, either.''

''I can say what I like, I'm the Arch-Mage, after all.''

''And I'm about five times your age, so I can use the 'respect your elders' card.''

The mood suddenly turned serious as the pair realised they were being watched.

The three cages each held a prisoner, all of them Nords, and all of them mages. Fornice sat on a chair positioned so that she could see all prisoners at once. Tolfdir sat directly to her left.

''Well?'' Asked Fornice to the three prisoners after a few moments silence.

''Well, what? What do you want from us?'' Said the one in the cage seperate from the other two. Fornice noticed a distinct ribbon of red around the mans collar.

_Fire mage,_ she thought to herself.

''You know perfectly well. You were caught trying to smuggle valuable items out of my college, amongst them was the priceless Staff of Magnus. Who are you working for?''

''We work for no one.'' This came from the man in one of the other cages. His collar sported a deep blue. A shock mage, to be sure.

''You expect me to believe that you came here and stole a very recognisable artifact which very few people would even consider holding, and you didn't have a garunteed buyer? Who are you working for?'' There was a long silence while the prisoners looked at the floor. Fornice slowly stood up, pulled back her hood and looked each prisoner in the eyes. After a few moments, she sighed and looked up at the ceiling. ''You know, the Ice Fields aren't technically part of Skyrim, so no laws apply here.'' She leaned towards the Fire Mage. ''I can use any methods I want, and no one can do a thing about it.'' She remained looking at the Fire Mage, when he suddenly rushed at the bars, his brown eyes wide open, and his mouth split into a nasty grin. While instinctively jumping back, Fornice noticed his black hair was more messy than hers, a sure give away of the amount of time he had spent out in the open before the robbery. At the sight of her leaping back, the mage started to laugh.

''My mother might have something to say about it.''

Regaining her composure, Fornice relpied. ''Oh, and who might she be, a minor Nord land owner who thinks she owns the Empire, a Jarl's steward who thinks she has real power?''

''No, my mother has more power than your pathetic College ever will.''

''Ha! So she's a hedge witch who thinks her petty spells can take over a college of mages.''

''No! I was not talking about magic. My mother is High Queen Elisif.'' Fornice visually paled at these words. She now knew where she had seen those eyes. She had been to Solitude many times, and one of them was when the Jarl and her sons had gone on a march. The Fire Mage must be Bjornrick, and the Shock Mage would be Fjell. That means the last one, the one who had not spoken the entire interview, must be little Sunhal. Judging by his light blue collar, he was an ice mage. Once again, Fornice had to quickly collect herself.

''It matters not, you will never escape here. Now, you will tell me why you were stealing from my College, or you will suffer pain unimaginable.'' The only response that Fornice got was for Fjell to spit at her feet. She turned to glare at him, before grabbing Tolfdir and storming out of the cavern, her hair matting even more as she went.

* * *

High Hrothgar was filled with an unfamiliar noise that evening; conversation. Usually, one of the Greybeards would be heard practicing his Thu'um, or even one whistling to himself as he stirred a pot of apple and cabbage stew, yet this evening actual words spoken by the Masters could be heard.

Master Borri and Master Einarth stood side by side in the grand entrance of High Hrothgar. All of their attention was focused on Master Angeir and Master Wunfarth's conversation at the far end of the hall.

''You have lived with us here for nigh on sixty years. Why would you want to leave now?'' Boomed Arngeir. The three other Greybeards were all slightly jealous of Arngeir. He could speak without setting off an earthquake, something the others could not learn. He said that it was a matter of him mastering his Thu'um, but the others knew it was something more.

''I have grown old. My time will be up soon, and I want to make a difference to this world. For too long I have been here, I can barely remember anywhere else, and now I need to see the world again, to teach the Way of the Voice to others outside these walls.'' Master Wunfarth could only talk in whispers. As he spoke, the mountain gave out loud rumbles, and loose stones tumbled into the courtyard outside. If he spoke any louder, High Hrothgar would be burried under rock and rubble.

''You cannot leave! No Greybeard has ever left the order-''

''And no Greybeard has ever gotten involved in politics, but look what happened last year.''

''That was different, you know that.''

''And maybe I am different. I need to leave, or my soul will never be at rest.''

''I forbid it. I-''

''Enough!'' Roared a voice that came from nowhere and everywhere. Only Master Arngeir knew to whom that voice belonged. ''You cannot force a person to do what you believe is right. You shall let Master Wunfarth leave, and you will bestow upon him the blessing I bestowed upon you.''

''But master Parthuunax, I do not know how,'' whimpered Master Arngier.

''Find it within you.''

''That was Parthuunax, our leader?'' Asked Master Borri, in the same hushed tones as Master Wunfarth.

''Yes. Master Wunfarth, I am ashamed of my actions, let me bestow upon you a shout that will allow you to speak as I.'' To this, Master Wunfarth simply bowed his head.

''BONAAR HIN ZUL!'' Shouted Master Arngeir. A purple force bursted from his being and slammed into Master Wunfarth, who staggered backwards several steps. ''Speak, Master.''

Master Wunfarth made several chocking noises, until he said, ''I can talk.'' No longer in a whisper, but in a true human voice. Master Borri, and Master Einarth, exchanged glances and turned back to the scene.

''You can indeed,'' said Master Arngeir in a cold tone. ''You are now no longer a Greybeard. You may keep your robes and a few items from the donation chest outside the Monastery, but nothing more. Leave now, and do not return.'' Master Wunfarth stared in wide eyed shock before slowly, very slowly he opened the wide oak door and stepped outside.

The air was freezing, far below zero, yet Master Wunfarth did not feel a thing. He walked to the edge of the crumbling cliff face and looked down.

''FEIM ZII GRON!'' He shouted. His body baecame translucent and faint blue. He stood on the edge for a moment, and then he jumped.

* * *

''So, how are we going to escape?'' Asked Sunhal, the ice mage, rather timidly.

''I'm working on it.'' Sanpped Bjornrick, angrily. Since Fornice and Tolfdir had left, Bjornrick, Sunhal and Fjell had tried every imaginable way of escaping, short of blowing up the cages, with them right in the centre of the blast.

''By the Eight, if only that Altmer bitch hadn't found us, we'd be in Hjaalmarch by now, enjoying a final stop in Morthal before giving our well earned loot to mother,'' said Sunhal.

''It kinda was our fault. I mean, it was a bit adventurous to steal the Staff of Magnus from under their noses,'' said Fjell.

'' Would mother even be proud of us?'' Asked Bjornrick.

''Of course she would. She always complains her sceptre looks like something dragged from the docks compared to the Jagged Crown. Having the most powerful staff in Tamriel as her sceptre, now that would be something,'' said Fjell.

''But stealing one. Doesn't that seem a bit low?'' Asked Sunhal.

''What it is would out weigh how we got it. It's not like the College could do anything about it,'' said Bjornrick.

''Well, there's no way we'll be able to get it for her now. It's safely tucked away back in their vault, as well as double the amount of guards guarding it. Our plan was perfect, every detail accounted for, except the fact that the gate closes behind us. How were we meant to know that? And then that woman, Faralda, or something, happens to be walking by. I mean, who walks around at two in the morning? Bloody college mages,'' ranted Bjornrick. His brothers didn't know how to respond, so they simply sat down in their filthy cages.

Bjornrick slumped to the bottom of his cage. He felt dirty, and he also felt ashamed for what he did, yet he would never let his brothers know that. He wrapped his red-rimmed cloack around himself to keep out the cold, but the specially tailored cloak was made for the mild climate of Solitude and Haafingar, not the inhospitable sub-zero wasteland that was the Ice Fields. The only thing that stopped him shivering until his teeth fell out was the warm currents of pyromancy that flowed through his veins. He looked around the bleak cavern, pushing a shock of black hair out of his eyes. He stared at his brothers for several moments, before counting himself lucky.

Sunhal did not feel the cold at all. His years of practicing ice magic meant that his body no longer felt the affects of the numbing cold, rather it just made him feel like there was some great power flowing around him, occasional seeping through his cloak into his body. He felt strong, stronger than he ever felt in Solitude.

Out of all of them, Fjell felt the worst. His face dripped with cold sweat, which froze on his nose and cheeks, chilling his face until he couldn't say with any form of certainty that it was even there at all. His long blonde hair was matted with dirt and ice that wrapped itself around his neck like a dirty scarf. His body shook and convulsed, and his skin was paler than the ice that encased them. He didn't have the warmth in his blood, nor the aptitude to ice. All he knew was shock magic, and that did nothing to protect himself from the freezing depths of The Chill.

Fjell was dying, and they all knew it. Bjornrick tried casting a weak flame spell on him, but all that did was singe his cloak and melt the ice on his face.

''Bjornrick, stop trying, if I am to die in here, then that is what I must do,'' said Fjell through chattering teeth.

''Don't say that! We will find a way out, we will...'' Bjornrick trailed off as his eyes looked across the room at the Frost Atronach stomping this way and that at the far end of the room.

''Do any of you feel that?'' Asked Bjornrick, rubbing his hand across the door of the cage.

''I-I think so,'' said Sunhal. ''It's like a resonance deep inside, but far away. It's only here, but it's all around me.''

''What is? I can't feel anything,'' said Fjell.

''Magicka, my brother. We can feel Magicka. But, there is a question we must ask ourselves. Did we feel the Magicka when we came in?'' Said Bjornrick, with a look of excitement on his face. The were several moments of silence, before Fjell said, simply and correctly,

''No.''

''And there we have it. With the scant knowledge that we have of this place, we can safely state that the Magicka that, I am asumming here, stops us from damaging the cell, only works from the _inside,_ '' laughed Bjornrick, almost jumping up and down with excitement.

''So? There is still no one out there that knows where we are, well, not anyone willing to rescue us,'' piped up Sunhal.

''You seem under the impression that the being letting us out of these cages needs to willingly do it.'' After saying this, Bjornrick turns to look at the Frost Atronach that was still stomping around the cavern. The other two turned to look as well, and soon caught on to the idea.

''But-but how?'' Asked Sunhal.

''I have a plan. It's going to be risky, but it just might work,'' said Bjornrick. Before anyone could say anything else, Bornrick had a ball of flame in his hand and was carefully aiming it. The two others stared in shock as the Firebolt flew through a gap in the cage and slammed into the side of the Atronach, melting a fist sized hole in its abdomen. It didn't react, not even a stumble in its step could be seen. Bjornrick, starting to doubt his plan, prepared another Firebolt.

''No, it's too dangerous. Don't do it!'' Shouted Fjell, rattling the bars of his cage. Sunhal joined in with his brother's shouts of protest. Bjornrick, deaf to the protests of his brothers, let the Firebolt loose. Once again, nothing happened, the Atronach just kept stomping around in his never tiring ronds. Bjornrick, still not giving up, launched another one. His aim was true, and it slammed in exactly the same spot as the first one.

At first Fjell and Bjornrick thought that that Firebolt had done nothing, had only been failed attempts like the previous two, but Sunhal knew better. He knew that it took three attempts of violence to provoke anger from a summoned creature. He knew that the behemoth of frost would soon turn and try and attack his brother. He also knew that there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

With more grace and speed than Bjornrick thought was possible for a creature that size, the Frost Atronach had slammed itself into Bjornrick's cage. The metal bent dangerously inwards, and several bolts and chunks of ice flew in all directions. Bjornrick ran to the back of his cage, making sure he was ready to run. The atronach recoiled back and charged once more, splitting several bars on the cage. All three brothers knew the next hit would mean everything.

It came with more force than the other two. The rusted metal almost exploding on the impact. Bjornrick was ready for this moment, and he cast his most powerful Fireball at the atronach, who had staggered itself on the impact. Sunhal and Fjell felt the great wave of heat wash over them as the monster was reduced to nothing in seconds. Each of them let out a breath they didn't know they were holding, and Sunhal and Fjell both cheered loudly.

Bjornrick wasted no time in blasting the locks off of his brothers cages, and each of them ran across the room, but before he could take more than a few steps, Fjell collapsed to the ground. The cold had seized up his legs, so Sunhal and Bjornrick carried him, despite him telling them to leave him behind.

It took them a good ten minutes to get through all the tunnels, with their labyrinthian twists and turns. About half way through, the blood began to flow through Fjell's legs once more, due to a constant stream of heat from Bjornrick. All three of them thought that they had done it, that they had escaped and could make their way back to Solitude, to home. Little did they know how wrong they were.

The three almost collided into the first of the Atronachs waiting for them outside the cave. None of them expected to face more of those monsters. They believed one was enough to take care of most criminals.

The first one raised its fist and smashed it down on the ground, right where they had been standing seconds before. The three of them ran in different directions, being seperated while being attacked is never a good thing.

Sunhal was the first to go. He threw everything he had at them. Frost Walls, Blizzards, Ice Spikes, but none of them did a thing. Frost spells do not work against creatures of ice. He decided to run rather than be killed, leaving his brothers to their doom never crossed his mind. It was while glancing back that he fell. A loose rock turned his ankle, and he collapsed to the ground. He landed on his back, facing the Atronach. It lifted its heavy mace of an arm and brought it down, hard. Fjell and Bjornrick stopped casting at their foes and turned to see the bloody pulp that was Sunhal's head get repeatedly smashed and hammered. The club-like arm of the monster was awash with red, sticky blood. Tears burned across Fjell's face, but were soon forgotten about when the second Atronach brought its arm down for swing at him. He quickly dodged by rolling to the side, and counteracted with a Lightning Bolt of his own.

During their battle a blizzard had started. These weren't rare in Winterhold, but it did mean the Atronachs became almost invisible, and so it was that they gained the upper hand. Fjell, busy fighting his own Atronach, did not see Sunhal's charging towards him. The howl of the northern wind masked even the heavy footfalls of the momster, so, after shocking his Atronach to pieces, and taking a break to catch his breath, he was picked up and thrown against the ice. This ice had been there for thousands of years, but a 140lb weight thrown at close range by a 10ft beast managed to shatter it into hundreds of pieces. Blood and shards of bone flew from Fjell after the initial impact, but his body simply sank into the waves.

Bjornrick fared better than the other two. His flames melted the Atronachs within seconds, and his first opponent was soon a rapidly freezing puddle on the ice. He knew that another of those things were out there, just waiting for him to make a wrong move. He turned aroud in a slow circle, looking for any sign of the beast. After several minutes, he heard a soft crunch behind him. He instantly span around and launched a Firebolt. At first, he thought it might have been nothing, but the Firebolt briefly lit up the form of the monster. Bjornrick quickly shot half a dozen Fireballs in that direction, which exploded upon impact, melting much of the snow and ice. Several moments passed, until the unmistakable chunk of ice that was the club arm of the monster landed by Bjornrick.

He never found Fjell's body, no matter how hard he tried, and there was nothing left to salvage of Sunhal, so he sat and sobbed for what seemed like hours. When his throat was hoarse and no more tears would come, he stood up, shakily, and turned around. Pulling out his compass he turned to face west-south-west. He took one long, deep breath and started to jog in that direction, towards Solitude.


	2. Two

The Hall of the Elements was filled with jostling people, each pushing, shoving and craning to try and see why they had all been summoned there. All different kinds of mages stood around the hall looking inwards at the magicka fountain, whose power spiralled upwards in a great twisting blue beam. The high windows let in little light, as the grey clouds that fuelled the blizzard outside blocked almost all light from the sun, but the room was not dark as orbs of white light, which the Alterationists liked to remind everyone was their idea, stood underneath each window on small pillars. The robes and sashes of each individual created a myriad of colours across the room. The robes represented their proficiency, from the icy blue and white novice robes, to the purple and burgundy master robes, and the sashes showed what school they belonged to. When Fornice became Arch-Mage, she decided that the different schools of magic needed more focus, so she devised a system where every member was to state their preference, and they would belong to that school, meaning there was a more orderly system to learning and teaching, but it did spark up a rivalry every now and then. Destruction students believing they're superior, and Alteration students paralyzing the lot of them. It was a great source of amusement and drama for most members of the College.

By the doorway, the grey-robed Librarians stood between a group of green sashed Illusionists and blue sashed Conjurers. They wanted to be here less than most, because they had just received a First Edition of _Calcelmo of Markarth's Guide to the Falmer_. The Falmer were constant pests in Winterhold, so understanding them more could save the lives of many a wandering mage.

As the Librarians grumbled to each other, and the Destruction students created element pillars, and the Alterationists cast great balls of light across the room, the door to the Arch-Mage's Quarters swung open, and Fornice stepped forward into the crowd. Those who noticed her politely stepped out of the way, but she had to gentley guide her way through a clump of Librarians in a heated debate over a new shelf filled with Argonian cookery books.

The centre of the room was devoid of all people, so one by one the people in the room went silent as Fornice took slow, gliding steps across the hall. Her blue velvet cloak shimmered and swayed with each step, and the snow fox fur on her hood ruffled in the drafts blowing around the room. She lifted her robes to show plain white boots as she stepped up onto the raised dais that the fountain stood upon.

''My friends.'' Her voice echoed around the room. It bounced off of pillars, walls, floors and ceilings until it sounded like she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She waited a few moments for he echo to subside, until there was complete silence. No one dared to breath. Everyone was waiting. She looked around, smiling at the array of different views and cultures in the College. _Her_ College. Pride swelled within her, at everything she and her colleagues had achieved. This morning she had received a letter, delivered by a frightened young boy, and the letter couldn't have contained better news.

''Winterhold is alive. Ever since the Great Collapse, our great city ceased to be. Overnight, three of the city's five districts tumbled into the sea, taking its citizens with it. Only the Gate District and the College remained, and that is all you see now. Our city never rebuilt itself. It stagnated. For eighty years the city has only gotten worse. You can see the empty shells of abandoned houses where citizens have left this desolate corner of the world, but it has changed. For the first time in seventy years, Winterhold has a Thane.'' This caused a wave of whispers to spread across the room. This was huge news. Despite the College being distanced from the town, everyone wanted it to grow. The people of Winterhold blamed the Great Collapse on the College, seeing as it was the one of the few buildings left standing when all others around it collapsed into the sea. The mages insisted that the College survived because of ancient protective magics, and that the Great Collapse most likely happened due to Red Mountain on Vvardenfell erupting, causing far reaching consequences, but the locals, in their grief stricken state, held the College responsible, and the relationship has never been fixed since. Having a Thane meant that Winterhold might at long last be recovering. If the town were to be rebuilt, then the mages may no longer be shunned or feared, but celebrated and rejoiced.

''The letter held more news than that. It spoke of an opportunity we have to rebuild our relationship with the town.'' At this, Fornice pulled out an envelope from a fold in her robes. She flipped it open and pulled out a dull piece of parchment. She cleared her throat and read,

'' _Fornice Draconis._

_I, as your Jarl, feel obliged to inform you that I have bestowed the honour of Thane upon one Hoarik Forge-Blazer. He managed to return to me the Helm of Winterhold, an artifact lost for centuries, maybe millennia. He also tracked down the Wispmother attacking the few travellers that brave the hold to get to our city, and stabbed a sword right through her._

_Winterhold has little cause to celebrate, so I have taken this as an excuse to host a rather auspicious festival in the Jarl's Longhouse on Turdas 18th of First Seed. Every citizen of Winterhold is invited, though I would much prefer it if you and Tolfdir were the only representatives of the College._

_Jarl Korir of Winterhold.''_

There were several shouts of outrage amongst the crowd, especially from the more boisterous members of the Destruction school.

''What have we ever done to him?'' Shouted out one member.

''We have as much right to be there as the rest, that pompous stuck up-''

''Enough! I know the letter unfairly states that only Tolfdir and I should attend, but it also says every citizen of Winterhold is welcome, so I want as many of us as possible there, but I swear, if any of you make a fool of themselves, or shine a bad light on the College, you shall not be allowed back inside the gates. Do I make myself clear?'' Everyone responded with quiet mumbles of agreement. ''Good. We need to prove to the people, especially Jarl Korir, that the College isn't something to be shunned or feared, but something to be rejoiced and respected. If we pull this off, then who knows how much we could do with this place. Imagine the business opportunities, the wealth. We could at long last repair the bridge, if you want to start thinking small. Now, that festival is this evening, for those who hadn't noticed. I'm sure sending the letter on the same day as the event was another of Jarl Korir's ploys to get less of us to go, so we need to get ready. Everyone who wants to attend, get ready and make your way to the town post haste.'' With that, Fornice stepped down from the dais, and the members started to file out of the room, talking avidly about the festival. Some, namely the Librarians, thought it was a terrible idea, and were more inclined to stay and bustle through their collections. Others, like the younger students, couldn't wait to leave the College. It was a rare occasion that anyone went across the bridge and into the town, so this was very exciting for them, and nobody wanted to miss out.

* * *

Peric stood in front of the tall mirror in his room, trying to get his emerald coloured sash to fit. No matter how hard he tried, the thing would either suffocate him, or slip off his shoulder and on to the floor. He finally managed to do a decent job, and turned to the side to admire his handiwork. _You'd think after a year of doing this, I'd be able to get the hang of it,_ he thought to himself. He usually got Brelyna to do it for him, but she was busy getting herself ready. He straightened his autumnal robes and smiled at his reflection. His sash clashed wonderfully with the burnt orangey-brown of his robes, much like a tree just at the turning days of Summer into Autumn. His dark brown hair fell to one side, covering one of his equally deep brown eyes. He didn't look much different from most Bretons, but he decided he did a pretty good job with what he had to work with.

''Peric, are you done yet? Onmund and I are waiting. J'zargo left without us, but that cat can freeze on that bridge on his own.'' Peric sighed at the way his friend called after him. Brelyna Maryon was one of his closest friends, yet she did get on his nerves with her constant shouting across the dorm. He glanced round his room to see if he had forgotten anything. He took great pride in his very own little section of the College. His wooden bed was covered with a wolf skin, and another one acted as a rug on the cold, grey floor. A rusty chandelier filled with half melted candles hung from the ceiling, which cast flickering light across the room. A bookshelf in one corner held mostly a collection of oddities and rare ingredients for potions, as well as little knick-knacks and trinkets. An old wardrobe stood in one corner, which contained his spare robes, as well as his more casual clothing. The part he looked after most was his little desk. Inkwells, quills, parchment, paper and charcoal were all neatly arranged around the desk, along with a small pile of papers that were comprised of his research notes on how Illusion spells actually affect living organisms. He shook himself out of his wondering, and he grabbed his satchel that contained his coin purse, dagger and a few potions and walked out of his room.

''I'm ready, don't get all panicky. We're gonna be too early if you make us rush any more.'' He stopped when he saw Brelyna with her eyebrows raised and arms crossed in front of him. Her dark blue Dunmer skin contrasted shockingly with her glowing red eyes that pierced into him. She had curled her black hair, and it fell down to her upper back. It was a rare thing to see her hair, as she usually liked it to be covered by her hood, whose colour incidentally matched her skin. Her yellow Alteration sash was contrasted by her deep blue robes, and her white boots looked almost comical in comparison. Behind her, Onmund stood amused at Brelyna's impatience. Onmund was an oddity also. Not many young Nords studied magic, but he was exiled by his family for following his dream. Behind his cheery face and rosy cheeks, there was much pain, guilt, remorse and regret, yet Peric had only gotten him to talk about it once before.

''Are we going to go or what?'' Asked Onmund, laughing as Brelyna flustered, before she recovered and strode out the door.

The courtyard was filled with mages of all stripes battling the blizzard that howled through the College. Although it was only dusk, the clouds blocked out all sunlight, and only the artificial orbs of white light that dotted the campus, as well as more temporary ones that the mages had summoned, lit the way.

''By The Nine, I didn't expect it to be this bad!'' Onmund tried to shout over the wind, but the other two could barely hear him. They decided to make a run through the curved cloister that circled the snow covered courtyard. A magicka fountain like the one in the Hall of the Elements stood in the centre, but was shadowed by a tall statue of a mage with his arms in the air, like he was summoning the beam of magic from the blue pool bellow. His cloak billowed outwards, like the gale was affecting him just like the living mages.

The bridge was almost invisible to the mages. They had to walk at a snails pace just to make sure they didn't fall off the edge, as parts of the sides had collapsed into the sea bellow. Three tiny magicka fountains dotted the bridge, acting as beacons to warn you when there was a turn. It took Onmund, Brelyna and Peric half an hour, but they eventually stepped onto the slick cobbles of the road that ran through what was left of Winterhold.

* * *

''Come on las, get ya' act together. We got people to serve.'' This was the first thing that greeted Onmund, Brelyna and Peric as the walked into the Jarl's Longhouse. The man was a short dunmer with jet black hair, Malur Seloth, the Jarl's steward. He seemed to be shouting at a buxom bar maid with a tower of drinks precariously balanced on her arm. She wobbled over to a group of senior mages sitting at a table in one corner.

The Longhouse was filled with as much life and energy as a dying town could provide. As soon as the trio walked through the door, they were hit by a wave of noise. Hundreds of people shouting over each other to be heard left little room in their heads to even think. Everybody, even the stodgiest master was enjoying themselves. Only three faces weren't smiling, and all three were up at the far end of the Longhouse. Past the scorching fire pit, underneath the bell tower, sitting underneath the mounted mammoth skulls, were three figures. Each of them mumbling to each other, but not one sported a smile, not even a grin or a smirk. Jarl Korir's long, nordic red hair and trimmed beard framed a solemn and weary face. Lines creased his skin. Onmund didn't want to think how many of them were a mark of a heavy mind, than actual age. Thick eyebrows furrowed above perfectly blue eyes, dull and dead, like the land he ruled over. His attire stood out from others, because of its obvious expense. Fiery sabre cat pelts lined the fine silk and tundra cotton jacket, dyed with deep blue and dusky browns. Worn boots swallowed the hem of his specially tailored trousers. He represented the very image of wealth in the charade of society. To his left sat Fornice, her long brown curls bounced with every move of her head. She seemed to be trying to convince Jarl Korir of something, but his dull expression made it clear he wasn't paying attention. Throughout their conversation, Fornice would take small sips from a goblet of wine, but as her persuading drew on, her sips became gulps, and her goblet became four, until she gave Korir up as a lost cause and turned away from him, her arms crossed over her midnight blue robes, her pink lips pursed into a scowl, and her pale Breton features slightly creased in annoyance.

''Hey, Peric, stop staring at the important people, and lets grab a table.'' Brelyna grabbed Peric's arm and sat him down by a tiny, worn pathetic excuse for a table. He snatched a plate of beef and an ale before looking at the third character. He was of the greatest interest to him, as very few new faces were seen around Winterhold. The man was obviously a Nord, by his extremely pale skin and lips, watery blue eyes and long braided blonde hair. His body was encased in a suit of dented and worn iron armour. Only his pale face and muscular arms showed. Peric rightly assumed that this man was Hoarik Forge-Blazer, the Thane of Winterhold.

''You know, I think Winterhold may actually be going somewhere now,'' said Onmund, raising a tankard to his lips.

''Yeah, soon we'll be just as rich and respected as Dawnstar,'' said Brelyna.

''I wouldn't say soon, but one day we'll be listened to,'' said Peric.

''Winterhold isn't that bad. I mean, we don't starve, and we aren't constantly under attack like some holds are. We can look after ourselves, and we're well defensible,'' Brelyna sat up when she said this, and you could almost see the pride radiate off her.

''I suppose you're right. We could be like Hjaalmarch, after all,'' said Peric.

''I've got an aunt who lives there. She sometimes sends me letters, and that place sounds horrible. No one ventures out onto the marshes there, but no one has to, the marshes venture into Morthal. That's where she lives, you see. It's the only thing representing a capital they have. Why they built a town on the edge of a marsh, I'll never know. They have to fight against disease, poverty and all sorts of nasty creatures just to make it through the day,'' said Onmund.

''If it's so bad there, why doesn't she just leave?'' Asked Peric.

''Trust me, she's thought about it, but she says it's her home, and she can't abandon it now. Every letter tells of something else the guards have to fight. Frostbite spiders, Chaurus, Mudcrabs, Wolves. Everything wants a piece of Morthal, but that's not the worst of it. The last one she sent spoke of something much worse.'' Peric and Brelyna leaned forward in anticipation.

''Vampires.''

''No!'' Shouted Peric and Brelyna together.

''Yes. She told me that all but two of the guards were having to defend the lumber mill. That's their only real source of income, and they couldn't afford to lose that to the blood suckers.''

''But where did they come from?'' Asked Brelyna.

''That's the real mystery. One day, the citizens were woken up to the sound of the war horns. They ran out their houses to see mass panic. Guards charging to meet a dozen monsters in robes, blood dripping from their razor like maws and evil black eyes filled with hunger and rage. If there's one good thing about Morthal, it's that the guards, after having to fight off almost every enemy imaginable, are one of the most powerful fighting forces in Skyrim. They only lost two men fighting the vampires, but Jarl Idgrod said that was partly due to them being in sunlight, and she was right. That night, another eight of the creatures came, but the town mage was there to help, and they only lost one guard. My aunt managed to send the letter to me after about a week of this happening every night. During the day the guards build more and more defences round the mill, and the mage puts up magical barriers, and so far they haven't lost many more men, but as far as I know, it's still going on. They sent pleas to Whiterun, Solitude and Dawnstar, and all of them said they couldn't spare any men.'' Onmund sat back and drained his tankard.

''That's horrible. Why don't they find the lair and wipe them out, though? It would save them a lot of time, money and men,'' said Brelyna.

''I dunno. I guess they're not willing to risk most of the towns guards. Anyway, I'm worried about her, but I don't like thinking about it, so can we talk about something else?''

''Well, I heard the College got broken into recently,'' said Brelyna.

''Brelyna, everyone has heard about the College getting broken into, but it's not that big a deal. They were caught and are now locked away inside The Chill, poor sods,'' said Peric.

''Yeah, but-''

''I have an announcement to make, so may I have silence please.'' The three turned to see Jarl Korir standing in front of his throne. His jacket hung by his sides, swaying in the drafts blowing around the Longhouse. ''As you all know, this is a big day for Winterhold, and I hope all of you are as delighted as I am to welcome this man,'' he gestured towards Hoarik, ''Into our little town.'' He stepped aside while everyone applauded, and Hoarik took his place.

''Thank you, all of you.'' His voice was deep and husky, and Peric noticed Brelyna give a little shiver. ''I've never really had a home. I've been travelling, hiring myself out as a mercenary, but then I stumbled upon this little town, with its bitter cold air, but warm, open people, and I knew that this is where I shall spend my days. Despite me now calling Winterhold home, I have never visited the College of Winterhold, but I will do whatever I can to help you. In fact, this evening I made an agreement with your Arch-Mage that regular guard patrols shall pass through the College, seeing as Jarl Korir has given me free control over Winterhold's guards.'' Peric saw Jarl Korir cross his arms at these words, and Korir's ever downcast features turned into an outright scowl. Peric smiled at the look on Korir's face. The Jarl of Winterhold had only ever looked out for the town, and had gone so far as to shun and reject the College. Peric liked this new Thane. He was not from Winterhold, so he was not affected by old hurts and grudges. A good sign, to be sure. ''To help this town grow, I shall spend what money I have saved over the years to build a smithy here. It'll help to make things to export, so we can finally have an economy. Thank you.'' He stepped back next to Korir, and everyone applauded loudly. They all took very kindly to Hoarik Forge-Blazer, as everyone in that room could see he would bring prosperity to Winterhold.

* * *

Fornice looked down from her place next to Korir at the people, half of whom were _her_ people. She was usually a happy woman, always with a smile on her face, and she would always greet any passing mage she saw around the College, but during the end of the evening in the Longhouse, her expression suddenly dropped to one of despair and worry. One of the mages at the College, a Battlemage that had spent her life training to fight with sword and magic had ran down from the College, entered the Longhouse and had whispered into Fornice's ear. _''They have escaped. The thief mages have blasted through The Chill. We found the remains of two of them, but there was no sign of the third. We presume he's headed toward Solitude. He may even have reached it now.''_

Those words were perhaps the worst she could possibly hear. She turned white and started shaking, and for the duration of the two men's speeches, she just stood there, staring, but she knew she had to pull herself together, that she could not show her fear, so she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stepped forward.

''College mages, as you know, we have not had a head of Alteration for quite a while now, and I have decided that tonight I shall announce my choice. I must say the choice was rather easy, once I thought about it. I know that all of you working in Alteration are skilled and talented, but one of you expressed the flare of passion and creativity that is required in a leader, so can we all congratulate our new head of Alteration, Brelyna Maryon.''

Silence. One by one, the room turned to look at Brelyna, who sat with her mouth open, eyes unblinking. Onmund gave her a quick nudge and a smile which brought her out of her daze. Just like Fornice, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and stood up. She slowly, so very slowly made her way to the throne. Across the room, scattered applause was heard, which soon spread, until the entire Longhouse was filled with claps, cheers and whistles, especially from Peric and Onmund who had decided to climb on top of the table.

_Me? Why me? I mean, I'm not complaining, but I'm sure there are better. I suppose my treatise on mage armour and its connection to wards was rather good, but a 'flare of passion and creativity'? No, she can't be right, can she? Oh look, I'm almost there. I wonder what I'll have to do now. Wow, head of a school at nineteen. Only Fornice ever managed that. Maybe that's why she chose me, because she doesn't want to be alone. No, that's silly. Wait, are they clapping for me. Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush._

_Damn._

_Well, I guess I should enjoy it. A life of boring meetings and minor rabble handling for me._

''Ladies and gentlemen, this girl shined a light on the proper uses of Alteration. She didn't drone on about how it could theoretically produce x, or under circumstances make y happen. No, she showed us how it can be _used,_ how it can benefit lives of hundreds. She will go on to lead the way, and I couldn't have made a better choice.''

Brelyna walked back across the Longhouse. This time, she was not accompanied by applause, but the sound of people whispering and muttering filled the room. Fornice was still very white, but doing the speech made her calmer than before, and plans to cover up everything were already whirring through her mind.

''YOL.''

Everyone in the room went deathly silent as the shout, that one word, joined by a screech and the beating of wings, drove fear through everybody's hearts. The whole room was lit up by the light of the most intense inferno, as it burned at the other side of town. Suddenly, a guard burst in. His pale blue armour was torn and singed, and he sported a nasty dent on his helmet. In his strong Nordic voice, he managed to pant out one word, the word they all dreaded.

''Dragon.''


	3. Three

In the blink of an eye the silence and stillness was shattered. People shrieked and screamed, shoving away anybody that stood between them and the underside of a table, or a spot under the stairs. People were trampled by their friends and neighbours, as human, mer and beast instinct kicked in. All people thought about was their survival and escape.

''Guards and militia, file out the door now. It is your sworn duty to protect this town and its people. So The Eight help me, if I find even one of you cowering behind your mother's skirt.'' Jarl Korir bellowed at the contingent of guards that were on duty inside the Longhouse. Several citizens grabbed bows from the armoury in the southern wing, and some others found a sword, axe or knife. They each charged out of the Longhouse, some shouting their battle cries, some shaking and pale, but most throwing up prayers or clasping the amulets of their favoured Divine. Jarl Korir was the last to exit, donned with the Helm of Winterhold, and brandishing his steel greatsword. Next to him, Hoarik had drawn his iron sword, and his dented iron armour never looked so pathetic as he rushed into the snow, to be greeted by shouts of men, and gouts of flame. From his wide eyes and slight stumble in his step, you could see he was nervous, but the stalwart look on his face made it clear that he was willing to prove himself to Winterhold in whatever way he could.

There was silence in the Longhouse. Women and children cowered under stairs, door frames and tables. Admittedly, many women had joined the battle, but most knew nothing of fighting, except for the guards, and the odd barmaid who had to deal with the tavern rabble. While the citizens cowered, the mages all stood up, and slowly walked towards the door, trying to catch as many glimpses of the battle that they could through their narrow portal to the horror outside. Men and women fired countless arrows into the night sky, aiming for a demon of the sky, a target even the famed Aela the Huntress couldn't hope to hit.

Lights started to fill the room, all different colours from all different schools, greens, reds, blues, golds, anything that anyone could muster up that might just have an affect on the dragon. Each light merged into each other, until the whole room was bathed in an ethereal white glow. Each person knew what was expected of them, knew what they had to do, and yet no one wanted to be first. Every eye turned towards Fornice, who looked down at the respect and awe that shone towards her, and she gave one slow, yet decisive nod.

Peric let out his breath, as he came to a realisation of what he needed to do. He couldn't let his town, his friends, his home down, yet he saw no way that Illusion could help against a dragon. Roars and death shrieks echoed around the room. Through the door, everyone saw an entire platoon of guards mown down by a swish of the dragon's tail as it swooped low. The great scaled limb was ashen grey, and could hardly be seen. It was easily twice as long as a man, and anyone caught in its path didn't stand a chance. The entire room silently prayed for the dead, and prayed that Sovngarde held a place for the soldiers, and themselves. Onmund and Brelyna stood tall next to him, her face etched with fear, worry and doubt. She shook, more violently than Peric thought she could, her whole being quaking with the fear of what faced her, yet for all of that, she did not run, she did not hide. She stood with her friends, and she did not back down. Onmund turned to look at her, his normally cheery face downcast and serious. No light or happiness shined in his once bright azure eyes. He had lost so much in his life, and he knew that tonight he would lose more. Out of the shadows stepped a mysterious figure, his white fur gleamed in the light, and the black stripes across his face mixed with his black moustache to form a mysterious camouflage in the now gloomy room.

''J'zargo. Good to see you,'' Peric said to the Khajiit, sarcastically. None of them had seen him the entire evening, so they assumed he must be trying to chat up a village girl. He was the only Khajiit his age in Winterhold, so life was lonely for him, but that never dampened his spirits. He just kept trying with the other races. To be fair to him, several human and elf women found him cute, and he did get lucky once in a while, yet it never amounted to anything.

''J'zargo looks forward to showing that dragon not to mess with Winterhold. It will not even know what hit it, when J'zargo throws his lot in,'' J'zargo said to his friends. Peric looked at him with drooped brows, and a frown.

''J'zargo, don't you know how many people are going to die tonight? Just have some resp-''

''What in Oblivion are you doing? Don't just stand there like bloated horkers! There's a dragon out there that needs killing, and I swear by Magnus himself, we _will_ kill it,'' Fornice shouted as she strode towards the door, her locks bounced with every step, and a focused fury was on her face. Many of the younger students, eager for some kind of glory, rushed outside, treating this as some kind of game. The wizards and scholars had all seen terrible things in their days, and they knew the risks of rushing blindly into adventure, but they knew what was expected, and they were not going to let Winterhold burn, so each man and woman took a moment to calm themselves, pray and to raise some kind of magical defence, be it mage armour or preparing a ward spell. No one left unprepared.

* * *

Silence and stillness greeted Peric as he stepped into the cold behind Faralda, a tall Altmer woman with auburn hair, yet she was kind and thoughtful, with perhaps a too powerful streak of competitiveness. She was the Master of Destruction, and also next in line for Master Wizard, so Peric thought it a good idea to stick with her.

''Careful, boy,'' she said, noticing Peric taking a stance beside her, an Ice Spike in each hand. ''Don't stray too far from the rest, else the dragon might see you as an easy target.''

Onmund, Brelyna and J'zargo came and joined Peric and Faralda, each with their own favoured spell, Onmund was like Peric and preferred frost, but Brelyna always had an affinity for fire, and J'zargo never strayed from lightning, claiming it was a 'higher' magic.

Tolfdir scanned the sky, knowing the great lizard was waiting, watching. They needed to know where it was before it made another attack. As the guards, mages and militia all starred up at the sky, or scanned the horizon, he formulated a plan. He knew the dragon was clever, and that it was not only using the night sky, but the blizzard as well for cover, so there was no way of finding it before it was too late.

Except one.

''Where in Oblivion is that thing?'' Bellowed Jarl Korir, the fur cloak on his back flapping in the wind. He was struggling to be heard over the wind, and he soon realised how easy it was for the dragon to remain unheard, as well as unseen.

''My Jarl,'' Tolfdir practically shouted over the blizzard. ''This dragon isn't going to show itself until it attacks. It's waiting for us to let our guard down, which will be any moment. It is the hunter, and we the hunted, but we need to change that around. I have a plan, if you would let me take charge for a few moments.'' Tolfdir was old, and he knew his voice could not stand up to this treatment for much longer.

''Trust mages with command over a fighting force, are you mad, old man?''

''My Jarl, most of this fighting force _are_ mages, so let me put them to use.'' Tolfdir was hurt. Mages had done nothing to Winterhold, yet Jarl Korir could not see that, but he did not let his anger show, knowing he could not afford to waste any time.

''Tolfdir, do what you must, but if harm comes to Winterhold for it, you shall pay dearly,'' Jarl Korir said, making sure Tolfdir could hear the venom in his voice.

Tolfdir nodded at Jarl Korir. ''Mages, we need to find this dragon, and we need to kill it, but it's hiding in the shadows, so we need to take those shadows away. Each of you get a spell ready, and when I give the signal, you are to release it in any direction you so wish. I hope I don't need to remind you that fire spells are a foolish idea, and so is aiming it at another person.''

It was as if day had dawned, and the night thrown asunder. Each light blazed with the wanton emotions of each mage, each feeling translated into the beauty that filled the night sky. Fear and anger whirled around each other, taking with them the limp energies of Illusion. Lightning Bolts shot and crackled through the air, the very image of youth. Great globes of white light bounced their way around the other spells, the figures of calm and acceptance, and amongst it all swam the amber lights, the benevolent flames of Restoration, there to show people that peace can, and will be achieved.

The sturdy wooden planks and logs of Winterhold's houses got several new scorch marks and dents that evening, while great holes were blasted through the thatched roofs. Jarl Korir managed to contain his anger, but only just. His face was red, and his knuckles were white as they clenched around his sword. _The College will repair this. All of this._ He thought, as his town was hammered and smashed by the onslaught of spells.

Though each building was scratched and bruised, they were lit up exactly how Tolfdir had planned, and now he, and every man and woman, searched the skies for the dragon. Errant spells that people had cast upwards were still shooting towards the heavens, and Fornice made a mental note to put out a reward for any mage who can find out how far a spell can travel before it dissipates. Everyone looked, but no one saw. It was as if the dragon had simply vanished. He wasn't on top of the mountains, or perched on one of their ledges. He wasn't flying overhead, circling his prey, and he wasn't even by the College. The old grey building looked calm and peaceful.

Peric saw it first, and he stood there in silence. Faralda, Brelyna, Onmund and J'zargo quickly turned to look also, and soon everyone was staring up at it. On top of the Frozen Hearth, one of the largest and oldest buildings in Winterhold, sat the dragon. Its wings and feet ripping huge chunks from the thatched roof, and its mouth was bloody with the feast of whatever victims were once inside the inn.

Quick as a blur, it was gone. A flash of shining scales, yellowed teeth, and bone white spines. Into the night, the lithe lizard flew, twisting his body around air currents, and spiralling itself into clouds for cover.

''Alterationists, light spells at the dragon. Now!'' Brelyna suddenly took her role very seriously, knowing that the other Schools could take it down, if only they could see it.

Each Alterationist knew it was an impossible task for any spell to hit the dragon at the speed it was flying, let alone a light spell. Light spells were well known across Tamriel as one of the slowest spells to go any distance, so no one really used them to track enemies.

But the Alterationists knew better than to anger their knew Master. Each threw all they had into the sky, following the ever decreasing form of the dragon. Hundreds, perhaps even a thousand lights shot into the night, one following the other, as if the spirits of Nirn were rising from the ground, taking with them all evil, and swarming towards the source of the town's destruction.

It didn't stand a chance. Light spells may have been famed for their slowness, but not even a dragon could hope to evade the sheet of them that covered the sky. Like tiny suns all wishing to escape Nirn, to reach their rightful place in the cosmos. Most flew off into the sky, either fading into the night, or fading from existence all together, but a patch on the far corner of the swarm found their mark, each of them latching to the beast with invisible bonds, and no matter how the dragon twisted its body, or how fast it flew, the lights stuck to it, as if they knew that all was lost if they let go. The poor beast screamed its frustration to the night, cursing ancient Alduin and all his kin for not being able to hunt the almost painfully bright sprites attached to its ancient, almost sacred scales.

Brelyna smiled up at the sight. Finally they were getting somewhere. It had lost the power of shadow, and now they had gained the power of light.

Both Jarl Korir and Arch-Mage Fornice were about to shout the same thing, unbeknownst to them that their minds had had the exact same thought process, and perhaps if they had been able to say what they wanted, they would have realised they weren't as different as they first thought.

But no one needed orders. Almost as one, every mage, and every archer shot whatever they had at the great, glowing target. It was as if they were trying to shoot down one of the moons, the way the pale light shone down on mages and soldiers alike, shining light down on the damaged town of Winterhold, but despite the beauty, everyone knew how dangerous that moon could be, so lightning, fire, ice and arrows flew up into the sky.

With one final great roar, the bashed, bruised, burnt and gashed dragon did one final spiral, before it tilted downward and started to plummet, its torn wings fluttered uselessly, its face and snout dripped great drops of burning blood, its left leg was bent impossibly backwards, and so many arrow shafts poked from it, that it resembled some monstrously sharp hedgehog. Before, barely a single arrow hit its target, but now, not only because of the surreal light, but also because each guard had spent hours a day training, most arrows found their mark, and, because of this, many of the citizens and guards found a new respect for magic and its users.

Like a meteor hitting the ground, the dragon landed. It landed right at the edge of the cliff, the border between what stood standing, and what was thrown to the sea after the Great Collapse. Not even the magical bonds that help the lights to the dragon could cope with the impact, and each one was snuffed out, leaving the town shockingly dark.

The great lizard, now a pathetic and ruined sight, clung to the very weakest rocks that sat on the edge. Its tail and hind legs hung freely, scrabbling at the rocks, that only gave way and tumbled into the sea, some 300ft bellow. Its broken leg simply kicked at the rock, sending shooting pain up it and into the dragon's body, but it didn't stop. Its wings, though torn and shredded, still had the claws that tried to grasp hold of anything they could to stop it tumbling, but every rock was covered in ice and snow, and offered little support. Great pathetic cries rang through the air, that sorrowful note carried with it the desperate pleas for a saviour, and everyone felt it. Despite the fact that they had tried to kill the dragon, every single person there felt remorse at having taken down such a noble animal, and everyone felt a small pang of regret at making it look so weak, so helpless. Even Jarl Korir winced as it tried to use its teeth to hold on, and all that was heard was a very audible crunch as his fangs simply shattered with the force. It roared out in pain, its voice now guttural and frail, as if it had resigned itself to its fate.

Suddenly it stopped, its head snapped forward to look at the citizens of Winterhold that had gathered at a safe distance to look at the sorry sight. One tear, one single drop of water trailed down the scales of the dragons face, its eyes filled with more tears, and a sorrow that no one in the crowd had ever felt, had ever witnessed.

And it was gone. It simply let go, tumbling down, twisting and spiralling, slamming against the cliff face and thrown further into the reaches of the trench. Every soldier, every citizen, every mage bowed their heads as an evil, life taking splash was heard. They knew the shallow water barely broke its fall, and that it would've hit the mud, sand and rock underneath with almost as much force as if there was no water there at all. Not even a dragon could survive that.

Silence encompassed the crowd, no one wanted to break the mournful stillness, many still too shaken by the experience to speak. It took several minutes, long, dragging minutes, but the truth of what had happened soon soon dawned on those left, and one by one people began to whoop and cheer, until the whole town rang with elation. People ran out of houses and shops, and everyone left in the Longhouse swarmed out onto the streets. All memory of the sad sight of the dragon was washed away with the feeling of celebration.

''Citizens, we can celebrate later, but despite the hour their is work to do. A team needs to search the Frozen Hearth for any survivors, and the dead need to be lined up to be counted and buried. Luckily the flames did not reach the buildings, or else we would really be in trouble, but sparks and scorch marks still could set dry timber alight, so I want everyone to be alert,'' said Jarl Korir said, beaming down on all those around him. This was the first time in many years that Winterhold had something to be proud of, despite the people they had lost.

''Oh, and mages.'' All people from the College turned, expecting praise, almost certain that this had improved relations with the town. ''Go back to your College. Tomorrow, I expect you to be in the town, helping to repair the damage you caused.'' Before any mage could speak, worsening the situation even more, Fornice stepped in.

''You heard him. It's time for us to leave.'' He teeth were gritted, and her fists clenched. She shot a look of pure malice at Jarl Korir, but she still did not let her anger escape She headed back across the bridge, and, as if Tamriel had sensed the outrage she felt, the blizzard stopped, as if even the weather knew not to make her even more angry. One by one, the other mages silently followed, until all had left, and Winterhold looked even more bare than before.

Tolfdir, before crossing the bridge, saw something on the ground. It glittered in the light of the newly revealed moons. It was at the edge, near to where the dragon had been, so he thought maybe a scale had fallen off, or perhaps it was a shard of a tooth, so he trudged over to it, the snow crunching beneath his thick boots, and there, lying in the snow, was a perfectly frozen tear drop. He suddenly remembered the tear that ran down the dragons face, so he quickly held a frost spell in his hand, and picked up the tear drop, using the spell to make sure it didn't melt, and he hurried after the other mages.

* * *

''Fornice, I thought you might like this.'' Fornice looked up from her desk to see Tolfdir standing on the rug in the Arch-Mage's Quarters entrance hall.

''Tolfdir, I was bout to go to bed. What is it?'' She asked, standing up, and Tolfdir saw she was not in her robes any more, but a dark navy, silk nightdress. Wordlessly, Tolfdir held out his hand, and the light from the globes of magic hovering in the Alchemy Garden glittered off the dragon tear, casting sparks of light across the room.

''What is that?'' She asked, slowly stepping closer to have a look.

''It's a tear from the dragon. I doubt it has much to offer us, but I thought it would be a nice trinket for you. Oh, and as you can see it's frozen, so it needs to be kept cool,'' he said, while white mist rolled off his wrinkled palm due to the spell in his hand. Fornice beamed with excitement at the tiny drop of frozen emotion, and she sprinted across the circular room, her bare feet slapping against the dark, stone floor. She rummaged around in a tall basket next to her personal Arcane Enchanter. The candles along it cast flickering lights on her, and the glowing blue runes against the dark wood made it look exactly how something of its design should; magical. She pulled out a small crystal, purple, with smooth straight sides, and sharp edges. Tolfdir wondered exactly how many soul gems she must have in that basket but didn't let his curiosity get the best of him. Fornice placed the gem on the Arcane Enchanter, and scanned the room desperately for something, before she rushed over to a table, grabbed an ornate looking silver goblet and threw the wine that was in it onto the jazbay grapes in her Alchemy Garden. She then placed the goblet on the Enchanter and placed her hands on it. There was a quick flash, and the soul gem had disappeared, and the goblet now had a faint glow to it. Tolfdir had seen enough enchantments being made in his lifetime to not be amazed, so he just stood patiently, his palm outstretched, marvelling at the little curiosity in his hand. Fornice ran over and took the tear, and placed it in the goblet.

''I'll study this, to see if it can offer anything. If not, then I think I shall make a new pendent out of it. It's been a while since I got myself anything nice,'' Fornice told Tolfdir, still staring down into the silver goblet. Quite a fitting holder for something so precious.

''It's been a long day for us all, so I'm off to bed. Tell me if you discover something interesting.'' With that Tolfdir took a left, and walked down the stairs to The Hall of the Elements. As soon as he was gone, Fornice walked to her bed, put the goblet on her bedside table, and clambered under the covers.

''Madam Arch-Mage, you need to wake up.'' Fornice opened her bleary eyes to see one of the Battlemages, the same one who came to her at the Longhouse. Fornice made another mental note. To learn the girls name.

''What is it, Battlemage? And what time is it?'' Fornice asked, sitting up, her hair frizzy and sticking up at all angles. She wondered how the Battlemage's golden blonde locks could be so well kept, despite the fact that she had obviously been patrolling the walls, due to the dusting of snow on her crimson robes and hood. Fornice studied the woman even more. She had never had any real need to work closely with them, but she knew they were important to the College. They served as guards, patrolling the Walls, the Courtyard, and standing guard at the doors to the Vault. That was one of the reasons why Korir insisted that town guards should not patrol the College, as they have their own guards, but Fornice pointed out that the Battlemages didn't have any standing with the law, so could not arrest anyone, something Korir refused to let them do, so it had gone on for years, until Hoarik had stepped in that evening.

''Arch-Mage, it's about three-thirty in the morning, and there are Imperial Soldiers at the gates demanding to see you.'' Dread filled Fornice. She knew exactly what this was about, but she knew she couldn't put it off.

''Very well. I shall meet them.''

''I hope you do't mind, but but before I woke you, I took the liberty of getting your robes, hood and boots.'' Fornice smiled at the girl, liking her more and more. She wondered if she had been assigned to be the Arch-Mage's messenger, or if she had chosen it.

''Thank you. What is your name, girl?'' She asked, standing up and taking her clothes from the Battlemage.

''Runa, but you don't need to worry about that, just call me what you wish.''

''Well, I wish to call you Runa. That is your name, and everyone deserves to be called by their name,'' Fornice said, annoyed that everyone simply called her Arch-Mage, but didn't want to embarrass the girl by saying so.

''Please forgive my rudeness, Arch-Mage, but the men said it was urgent, so I think you should get dressed now.''

Fornice liked this girl. She at least had a semblance of a spine.

''Of course. Forgive me.'' Fornice quickly got dressed, and shoved her hood on to hide her hair. No way was she to meet with the Imperials looking a state.

* * *

''Ah, Arch-Mage Fornice. What a pleasure,'' the tall Imperial said. He was dressed in full Imperial steel armour, helmet and all, and his companion was dressed in identical gear, except the one who spoke had tanned skin, whilst the silent one had a paler complexion, and blonde hair poked out from his helmet. They wouldn't have been an imposing sight if it weren't for the fact that they were both mounted upon black horses. They weren't the most well built beasts, but it still put the soldiers several feet above Fornice and Runa.

''Why are you here, Imperial?'' Runa asked. The young Battlemage could sense the soldier's mocking tone towards Fornice, and no way was she going to let them insult her Arch-Mage.

''I shall not lower myself by answering your question, Nord,'' the Imperial spat.

''You will answer her question, as you are on College grounds, and that means she has more power than you,'' Fornice said, winking at Runa, who offered a small smile. The Imperial man sat up taller on his steed and motioned to his companion who pulled out a small scroll. The first soldier pulled off his shining steel gloves and snatched the scroll from the blonde Imperial. He carefully unrolled it and cleared his throat.

'' _Arch-Mage Fornice Draconis of The College of Winterhold.  
You are accused of torture, murder, false imprisonment of innocent men and high treason against Skyrim's Royal Family.  
You are to arrive in Solitude and plead your case, then I, and the other eight Jarl's of Skyrim, shall decide the fate of you and your College.  
You are entitled to bring two persons of your choice.  
May Sovngarde spit you out, and may you burn in the pits of Oblivion  
Elisif The Fair, Jarl of Solitude, and High Queen of Skyrim.''_


	4. Four

''Colette, I just need to know how many were injured, how many are still being treated, and how many are dead. It's not difficult,'' Fornice said, finally giving up any hope that if she just listened to the Breton woman's babbling, then she'd get somewhere eventually, but the Head of Restoration had other ideas, spending the last half an hour going on about the lack of trained Healers at the College, and how any Battlemage with training in Restoration should be ordered to help heal the casualties. Before Colette could jump into her much rehearsed speech about how Restoration deserves more money, so more useful magics can be researched, Fornice cut in, and made her demands.

''I'm sorry, Arch-Mage. Fifty-one mages were injured. Of those, twenty-three are still being treated. The Infirmary is quite full, but we're muddling through.'' Fornice sat up in her chair, suddenly interested in what Colette was saying.

''Colette?''

''Yes.''

''We don't have an infirmary,'' Fornice said, her brows raised.

''Ah, you see we had to set up a makeshift one. It's nothing fancy, but it gets the job done.''

''Where did you manage to fit it? There's hardly any room, and I don't see a hospital in the Courtyard,'' Fornice said, glancing out of her wide, circular window in the shape of the College's crest, that of an eye.

''Well, I did have to think about it for a while, but then one of my junior apprentices had an ingenious idea. The Midden! So I gathered all my students, and together we took supplies, tents, all the necessaries down there-''

''Colette! It's dangerous for anyone to go into The Midden, let alone fifty-one injured, and a couple of mages trained only in Restoration. I can't believe you would put so many people at risk.'' Fornice sat glaring at the Breton woman. Despite Colette's grating voice, squashed face and intense attitude, Fornice never thought the Head of Restoration would do something so _stupid._ In all honesty, no one really liked Colette. She was hard to even look at without wondering what wall her face had been slammed into, and most people thought that she probably deserved it. She wasn't particularly spiteful or hateful, she was just so _annoying_. Her voice was painful to listen to, screeching when she was angry or hyped up, and she was almost always one of the two, and she would constantly remind people that Restoration was 'a perfectly valid School of Magic', despite only having thirty-one practitioners, compared to Destruction's one-hundred-and-twenty-seven. She took time to organise speeches on the matter, but few came, yet despite the stick she got, not once was her intense, full on spirit dampened. In most people this would be admired, but Colette's attitude had a way of making you feel as if escape would be a glorious pleasure, but etiquette dictated you to nod politely and quietly suffer through.

''Arch-Mage, I assure you everyone is perfectly safe,'' Colette shrieked, her voice rising to such a painful pitch that Fornice visibly winced at her words. ''Some of us, including myself, are trained in basic to mid level Destruction, but we would've fared just fine without it. Restoration was extremely useful, as our Turn Undead spells helped with the Skeletons and Draugr down there, and Wards helps against the Ice Wraiths, but we did need Destruction to extermi-''

''That's lovely, Colette, but I refuse to believe you managed to clear out the entire Midden. There's Divine's know what down there, things that would bring countless sleepless nights to you, knowing that under your home, your sanctuary, live these things, so don't even try to tell me it is now safe,'' Fornice said, a flame in her eyes, and a hard, stony edge to her voice.

''You may be Arch-Mage, but I have been here for decades longer than you have,'' growled Colette. She had snapped. All through their conversation, she had brushed off comments that most would have been outraged at, but now Fornice had stepped too far. She said she was a coward and stupid, without really saying anything. That woman had always had a way with words. ''I have heard the tales, and when I was an apprentice I ventured too far, and I saw one of those horrors for myself, so don't you dare think that I am clueless, that I am ignorant.'' Colette stood up and strode towards the door, and Fornice could've sworn she saw real flames in her eyes. The Breton was about to turn to go down the stairs when she turned around.

''Oh, and we didn't clear out the whole Midden, we simply cleared the large room near the entrance and set up Wards and Runes to stop anything coming at us. There's plenty of room in that chamber, and running water to boot, so why would you even think that I would carry on going?'' Colette said, hurt clear on her face and in her voice, and despite the Breton woman's unrivalled ability to annoy and frustrate, Fornice felt a pang of guilt.

There was silence for a few moments before Colette sighed and disappeared down the steps. Fornice did not need this, not on top of everything else. She thought back to the day before.

_''Arch-Mage, you have until dawn tomorrow to prepare yourself. We shall accompany you to the gates of Solitude. There, the Fourth Brigade of the Eighth Legion will escort you to Castle Dour where a Moot shall convene to decide if you are guilty. You are allowed two of your number to accompany you. Choose wisely.''_

Fornice broke from her reverie, and decided that the soldier was right, that she needed to choose wisely. She couldn't take just anyone. She needed people she could rely on, people who could think, and it would be best if these people could fight as well, because if things went bad for her, she was not going to go to prison willingly, nor the executioners block.

* * *

''Tolfdir, I don't suppose you've heard the news?''

''Fornice, my dear, the entire College has heard the news. I want you to know that we all think you've done nothing wrong. They tried to steal from us, so we locked them up, but, my dear, we cannot know what lies that young lad has fed his mother, so we need to prepare for the worst,'' Tolfdir said, taking her hand in his.

''And that is why I want you to come to Solitude with me. I need someone with a good head on their shoulders, but can also hold their own in a fight.''

''Fornice, my old bones couldn't take a punch, let alone throw one,'' Tolfdir laughed.

''I meant with magic, and you know it!'' Fornice smiled for the first time since she got the summons.

''Who's going to stay and run the College, after its Arch-Mage _and_ Master Wizard is gone?''

''I thought Faralda and Brelyna could run things for a few days. Faralda is an extremely capable woman, and there's nothing wrong with throwing Brelyna in the deep end, is there? I would rather Drevis be in charge, but I've decided he should come with us to Solitude. I need an Illusionist and-''

''Fornice, Drevis is being treated in the Midden for a snapped arm and shattered knee cap.'' There was silence between the two. Wind whistled through the courtyard they were standing in, and they could hear a group of excited Conjuration students under the cloister.

''Well, balls to that!'' Fornice shouted, her frustration bubbling to the surface. ''I need someone trained in Illusion in case we need to make an escape, and I know none bar Drevis, so how can I trust their magical capability?'' She almost pleaded, desperation on her face. She was at a loss. Drevis Neloran was the Head of Illusion at the College of Winterhold, and Fornice had learnt to trust him, as he had got her and the College out of many situations with his control over people's minds. Many mobs and riots had been quelled thanks to him. The Dunmer may be eccentric, but his skills in Illusion were unsurpassed.

''Fornice, we'll find somebody. Why don't you go down to the Midden and ask him if there's any of his students that could fill the post?'' Tolfdir did not like talking to Fornice like a child, but he knew that was the only way to calm her down.

''That's - but... that's actually a pretty good idea,'' Fornice said with a sigh.

''Good girl. Now, I'd love to come with you, but some of my students are waiting for a lesson,'' Tolfdir said. He put a hand on Fornice's shoulder and walked back towards The Hall of the Elements.

* * *

Fornice had to admit Colette hadn't done too bad a job down in The Midden. Gone were the weeds, the bones, the rotting pieces of furniture that were left down there by previous residents, and in their place stood a busy, yet ordered hub of life.

Fornice had arrived on a raised platform that hugged two of the walls in an 'L' shape. A corridor led off of one of them, but Fornice was happy to see a shimmering blue shield blocking the way, and the floor several feet into the tunnel was covered in Runes that would explode if disturbed. _She wasn't lying when she said she'd made it safe_ , thought Fornice. She walked to the edge of the platform and looked down. Wooden shelters hugged the walls of the lower section, and an assortment of different sized tents filled the rest of the space. In the centre stood the largest tent of all, and Fornice assumed that's where the Healers and Colette herself lived until the patients were well. Fornice quickly glanced at what else was on the upper level, and she saw a few rotten looking crates filled with what Fornice guessed were bandages and non-perishable food. Another tunnel led off from the lower level, but that was blocked off in the same way as the upper level. Above the noise of people shouting orders, the general chatter and the occasional groan of pain, the thunderous roar of falling water could be heard, and Fornice looked ahead to see a great waterfall cascading down just past a large, rusted grate. Steps led down to the room where the waterfall ended, and Fornice assumed that's where they got the water.

''Colette, you've achieved much. I never thought it would be like this,'' Fornice said, walking through the tent flap. Colette looked up from the pile of papers she was sorting through and gave a weak smile to Fornice.

''And to think you thought this was a bad idea. Half the people in here will be out by the end of the week, and then we'll start disassembling it. The lesser injured are in the wooden shelters, and each severe case has a tent to itself. People are comfortable and well cared for down here, but they'll be much better once they can return to their rooms. This shall all be as it was by the end of the month,'' Colette said. She was sad to see her hard work go, but she knew it couldn't stay, not with the Arch-Mage's attitude towards it.

''No, it's a great idea, and in days to come we will be in great need of it.'' Colette furrowed her brows at Fornice's words, but decided not to question it. ''Therefore, I shall be cutting off some of the funding to Destruction and Conjuration and giving it to you. Restoration is needed, Colette, and we can't use it to its full potential on the measly budget you have at the moment.'' Fornice smiled at the expression on Colette's face. Both of them knew that even if Restoration got a tiny cut from the two most powerful Schools, then it would still probably double its budget.

''Arch-Mage, I don't know what to say! I mean, thank you, thank you so much. This place will thrive, I promise you,'' Colette shrieked, her voice sounding as if it could shatter glass.

_I can finally set up a permanent Infirmary. I'll have to find somewhere suitable, but right here seems fine. We have water, and it's spacious. Wait, why am I getting this money anyway? Why now at any rate? I've been asking for more funding for years, and I've always been rejected, so why is now any different?_

''Arch-Mage, I hope I'm not being rude by asking, but why give me this money now? I've always got the bare minimum needed for Restoration's survival for years. I had to scrounge every resource and Septim I could get my hands on to set up this place, and even with that, all I have are planks of wood and a few tents. I could have used this money before, but I never got an extra Septim. Why now?'' A silence formed between the two, its grey tendrils reaching out and knitting the pair together, bonding them together in the sound of nothing, save for the occasional muffled shout and the steady rush of water. Most people were intimidated by Fornice staring them directly in the eye, but not Colette. She drank in the figure standing before her, a tall beauty in a long midnight robe, her billowy sleeves dangling from her crossed arms, swayed with every movement. Colette wondered if they were at all related. They had the same brown hair, dark eyes and pale skin. Of course these traits were common amongst Bretons, but so was interbreeding amongst families, resulting in very select gene pools, so it wasn't impossible. Finally the silence was broken. Fornice let out a sigh and uncrossed her arms, looking right into Colette's eyes.

''Clouds are forming, Colette. A darkness will choke us, and it is our job to break free, so anything that looks to repair instead of destroy is worth attention,'' Fornice whispered darkly. A shiver ran down Colette's spine, and something deep down inside her said that Fornice's words were true, and that frightened her more than she'd like to admit.

''And I shall be ready. You can count on me,'' Colette responded with a reassuring smile. Fornice simply smiled back with a nod of her head and exited the tent.

* * *

Drevis' tent was bigger than the others, not by much, but it definitely showed to the others that he got special treatment. Fornice didn't really like having some above others, but she decided it was not worth mentioning.

_Is that a bedside table?_

''Drevis, there's something we need to discuss,'' Fornice said bluntly to the Dunmer with his wild white hair sticking up behind him in the wild fashions only Mer can pull off. She knew he wouldn't appreciate it if she wasted time on greetings, that was just the way he was, quite the opposite to Colette. Those two never got along.

''Go ahead, Arch-Mage Fornice,'' the old Dunmer said with a jovial air only he could muster in a dank cavern like the one they were in. He put down the book he was reading and looked up at Fornice.

''First off, just call me 'Arch-Mage' or 'Fornice'. Saying both is a bit much.'' Drevis chuckled at this.

''Of course, Fornice. After all, everyone's entitled to their name.''

_It's as if he knows,_ Fornice thought. She knew mind reading was impossible, but him being head of the School that focuses on the mind, who knows what he could do.

''They are indeed,'' she said with a smile. ''Now, I'm in a small situation...'' And she told him the entire story, of the Mage's capture, of who they were, of their escape, of the soldiers and of her need for an Illusionist.

''Then it's a shame I'm strapped up in here!'' He exclaimed, motioning towards his collection of bandages. ''But some of my students are capable. It all depends on what you're looking for. There are two main types of Illusion Spells. The first type is that of the mind. You control the victims actions, making them docile, scared, or even sending them into a blood lust frenzy, and the other manipulates how you are seen, be it making you invisible or unheard. Which would be of more use?'' Fornice thought hard about this, running through every scenario she could, everything that could go wrong, every possible escape route, and though both types of Illusion would be useful, she knew which one would save her from a crowd of armed and angry guards.

''I need someone with power over the mind.'' Drevis smiled at this, his somewhat wrinkled skin stretching out.

''Then Peric Astuce is the student I recommend.''

* * *

Light streamed through the windows of the Jarl's Longhouse, mingling with the smoke cast up by the fire pit in the centre of the hall to form a grey haze that wafted here and there, filling the warm room with the homely smell of wood smoke. Jarl Korir always found the smell relaxing, and for a Jarl heading off to a Moot that was about to decide the fate of half the population of his Hold, relaxation was very important. So many little details had to be sorted out before he could leave Winterhold, but one in particular came to the front of his mind.

''Malur, is the crown polished?'' Jarl Korir asked his Dunmer steward who sat at the other end of the Longhouse with a silver goblet of wine next to him. Malur Seloth stood up and bowed to the Jarl.

''Yeah, my Jarl, I managed to make i' gleam wivou' damaging its ancien' look, just as ya asked. I put i' in the safe in the Armoury. Kai is making sure i' stays there.''

''Can you tell Kai he has my thanks. The Helm of Winterhold is the only thing that might get me respect at the Moot.'' Kai Wet-Pommel used to be Captain of the Stormcloak troops in Winterhold during the Civil War, but after the conquest of Windhelm, thus meaning a Legion victory, most surviving Stormcloak troops were disbanded or were engulfed into the guards, but Jarl Korir saw potential in Kai Wet-Pommel and kept him on as his own personal Housecarl.

''Of course, my Jarl. Begin' ya pardon, but there is one more visi' f' today,'' Malur said nervously. Depending in Korir's mood, he could be told that mistakes happen and ask to usher in the late arrivial.  
Or a plate could fly at his head.

''Malur, you said that my last visit would be Dagur, to see where he can be housed,'' Jarl Korir said, raising an eyebrow. Poor Dagur was the owner of the Frozen Hearth, the local Inn in Winterhold which was ripped apart by the dragon. His wife and daughter suffered the same fate, so he stayed with Kraldar on the other side of town while the community rebuilt the Inn.

''Sorry, my Jarl, but I 'membered that a young man from the College demanded t' see ya, sayin' it were 'imperative' he spoke t' ya 'bout the Moot. The boy did seem to 'ave an 'ead on 'is shoulders,'' Malur said, draining his goblet.

''And what makes you say that?'' Korir asked. In his opinion, no one from the College had any sense.

''He managed t' cast a Calm spell on me wivou' me realisin'. No feelin' of forced peace, no sense of bein' controlled. The only reason I knew i' 'ad been cast on me was 'cause he told me 'imself, and of course, once I were told, I instantly felt i', but still no' nearly as strong as from most Mages,'' Malur said, as if being controlled by another person was a thing of astonishment, and not a violation of his rights.

''I don't appreciate my court being controlled by magic. You can write to their Arch-Mage telling her that, but to some extent you are right. If I were to swing a sword at you without you feeling it, it would be just as impressive.'' Malur gave his Jarl an odd look as he said that.

''Malur, just because I despise the College, doesn't mean I'm ignorant of what they can do and what they study. To know one's enemy is to have power over them,'' Jarl Korir said with a faint smile.

''Truer words were never said, my Jarl. Should I bring 'im in? He should be quite chilled by now. I' may not be snowin', but a bitter wind is blowin' off the Sea of Ghosts,'' said Malur.

''No point putting this off,'' Korir said with a flick of his hand. Malur bowed and went to the door. He hesitated and turned to his Jarl.

''He's probably been out there for about 'alf an hour, so expect an angry mage or a dead body.'' Jarl Korir nodded in acknowledgement, and Malur Seloth opened the door, letting a blast of cold air into the toasty Longhouse.

''You have no idea how much I hate you, Malur,'' Peric said as he stumbled into the Longhouse. His skin and lips were tinted blue, and he very visibly shook with the cold. His brown hood was pulled up, casting a shadow over his face, but his dark eyes shone through. He walked the length of the room until he was facing Jarl Korir who was lounging in his throne, an unamused expression on his face.

''When I make an appointment to see the Jarl, I don't expect to have to wait outside for half an hour,'' Peric said, sitting on the step that lead up to the fire pit, the flames heating up his back, bringing colour slowly back to his face and hands.

''My steward only just informed me of your visit, so the fault is his,'' said Korir, coolly, casting a hard look at Malur, who turned away and poured himself another goblet of wine. Peric raised an eyebrow at Malur, but turned back again to face Korir.

''Jarl Korir, I've come here to talk to you about the upcoming Moot. You must side with Arch-Mage Fornice,'' Peric said bluntly, pulling down his hood, allowing his brown hair to fall out in a tangled mess.

''And what makes you think you have any rite to say such a thing to me, boy?'' Jarl Korir snarled as he sat up in his throne.

''I have the rite, because I know of your hatred to the College and its people. Everyone does, and we don't like it. We're not fools, we know you're thinking of pushing for High Queen Elisif to condemn Arch-Mage Fornice, or perhaps even the entire College, and do you seriously think we'll let you?'' Peric said, not standing up, but he looked Jarl Korir in the eyes, something that not many people can do.

''Enough!'' Korir roared, his face steadily went red with rage throughout Peric's speech _. How dare he talk to me like that? Filthy Mage._ ''You are a filthy spell slinger, and I am the Jarl of Winterhold. You will listen to me, and you will listen well. If you ever speak to me like that again, like you have no respect for me, I will do what you think I will, and I will burn your College to the ground,'' Korir said, his breathing heavy, and his eyes wild with anger. ''And who is this 'we'?'' Peric remained silent at these words. He was boiling with his own rage, yet he needed to contain it for now, not shout back. It wouldn't help anything, but he couldn't answer Jarl Korir's question, as it wouldn't be a good answer.

After a few moments of silence, Korir smirked and sat back in his throne. ''You won't answer, because there is no 'we'. You are a single mage, coming to my Longhouse with no allies and no plan. You're pathetic.'' Peric slowly stood up, his teeth gritted.

''Do you know why I presumed I could speak to you as if we were equals? It's because I thought a man who's Hold is in ruins, and yet refuses to do a thing about, and a man who shuns and not embraces the only thing that might drag us out of the gutter would realise he doesn't deserve to be treated as a figure of respect. He doesn't deserve any respect at all,'' said Peric, slowly and coldly, as if he were talking to a man who had killed half the population of the Rift, but in his mind this man was hardly different. This man was willing to condemn half the people he was sworn to serve and protect.

Stillness is what the room became. Even the flames seemed to slow their crackling. Hoarik Forge-Blazer and Kai Wet-Pommel were leaning against the door of the armoury, worried expressions on their battle hardened faces. Malur sat in a chair on the far side of the room, a goblet of wine half way to his lips. Peric felt very self concious, and he decided that it probably wasn't a good idea to say what he just did. Jarl Korir was as still as the rest. He sat there, leaning forward staring at Peric, as if he were the only thing in the world worth his attention. Peric slowly sat back down on the warm stone, not breaking eye contact with Jarl Korir.

''Why are you here?'' Korir asked calmly.

''To make you choose the right path,'' Peric responded almost instantly. He wrapped his arms around himself, pushing his face into them, so his mouth and nose were hidden, as if he were scared, but everyone in that room knew that Jarl Korir did not frighten him, and they knew he was only doing it to warm his arms and face. Malur felt guilty for leaving him outside so long, but there was nothing he could do now.

''And what path would that be?'' Jarl Korir asked. He was curious more than angry now, and he wanted to know what the boy was doing.

''To side with the College no matter what. You know full well that if the College goes down, so does Winterhold. Who would come here to see a couple of shacks? No, the College must live on.''

''And what if it's only your Arch-Mage who is to be executed?'' Korir asked. There was a long pause while Peric thought up an answer.

''Then, as long as Elisif gives you her word that the College shall remain unharmed, then you may side with the High Queen.'' Peric didn't like to say that, but he knew the College had many capable people who could take Fornice's place, and if Korir went against Elisif just for Fornice's execution, then it would cause far more problems than if he remained silent.

''And why am I asking you for permission?'' Korir said, more to himself than anyone. He seemed startled at this, as he sat back, and his eyes widened slightly.

''Because deep down inside, something has fallen into place,'' Peric said, getting up. He walked towards the door, and nodded towards Malur, Hoarik and Kai as he left the comfort of the fire and prepared himself for the bitter night air. He reached for the door and turned around to face Korir, who was still in his throne. ''Something inside you knows that I am right, and perhaps it's also telling you that we are equals after all,'' he said before pulling up his hood and stepping outside.

Jarl Korir sat in his throne in silence. His steward, housecarl and thane all watched him, waiting for him to do something. _Anything,_ and after a few moments he stood up and turned to them. ''Make sure nothing like this happens again.''

* * *

Dawn arrived with a fresh snow storm that blanketed the College, the town and the roads, yet Jarl Korir's carriage still stood ready and waiting in front of the Jarl's Longhouse. Two white stallions were strapped to the front, and in the drivers seat sat Malur, wrapped in thick wolf skins that shielded him from the worst of the storm. Beside the carriage sat the two Imperial Soldiers on their own horses. They only wore their standard issue Imperial armour which did nothing to protect them from Winterhold's bitter climate, and Fornice smiled to see them shivering as she climbed into the carriage. The outside was rather plain. Many nobles in Skyrim had carriages much more ornate and plush, but being of one of the poorest Holds, Jarl Korir could not afford such things, but the inside was another story. The interior was made up of entirely furs. Every last inch was covered in the hair of one animal of another. The floor was dominated by a white bear skin, its head still attached and looked as if it were roaring at those entering the carriage. The seats were made of plush cushions draped with sabre cat fur, but the most impressive touch were the brown mammoth fur cloaks provided to keep the inhabitants warm on the journey. Peric had never seen such luxury and decided this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.

''Hurry up, boy,'' said Kai, as Peric had stopped in the doorway to admire the carriage interior. Peric muttered an apology and sat down on a seat and grabbed one of the mammoth cloaks, glad for its warmth. He looked up and gave a coy smile to the man sitting opposite him.

''Oh, Lady Fate, you are a cruel mistress,'' said Jarl Korir, throwing his hands up in mock gesture to whatever beings resided over Nirn.


	5. Five

High Queen Elisif sat tall and stern in her high-backed throne. Her Moot regalia flowed out before her, reds and browns swirling across the cold slate floor of Castle Dour. A collar of fur trailed down the hem of her robe. Castle Dour was known for its drafts, especially in Winter tide and it was nearing that time of year, so Elisif was pleased that her stylists had taken that into consideration.

In front of her stood a very aged and worn table. Its wood was pitted with marks from times immemorial Daggers driven into the wood in anger, heads smashed against it from what are commonly called ''Jarl Brawls''. It was said that the Moot table came from the time of Ysgrammor himself, but in Skyrim anything more than one-hundred years of age are said to be made by Ysgrammor or his Five-Hundred Companions.

Every person around that table looked at Elisif in her bold robes and ornate throne, and they all saw something different. Some saw a child, barely old enough to to think for herself, let alone rule a nation, and some saw a proud woman, ready to lead her people to a time of grace, and one very angry woman, a woman with great curls of brown hair and her signature midnight robe saw a corrupt and unjust tyrant and as she stared at her Queen, she saw the potential of evil shining in her watery eyes.

The room was silent, every eye on their Queen, expecting some great verdict, some speech to guide them into action, and yet the woman sat there, staring straight ahead at one lone figure in an aged and uncomfortable wooden chair. Both those women would never back down, and as brown eyes met blue, they knew there could be no truce, no compromise. There could never be peace.

Elisif lifted her glass of Cyrodilic wine to her lips, her eyes still not leaving Fornice's, and as she put it down, her mouth twitched into a viscous smile.

''Arch-Mage Fornice Draconis of the College of Winterhold, you have been found guilty of three accounts of unjust torture, incorrect imprisonment, and two cases of murder. All against members of Skyrim's Royal Family. What do you have to say?'' Said Elisif in a calm voice that betrayed no emotion. Fornice raised her eyebrows at Elisif and sat back in her chair.

''Guilty? I haven't even been trialled.''

A murmur of voices filled the room, some scoffing at the need of a trial, and some of the more liberal Jarls nodded their head in agreement with Fornice Elisif leaned forward and grasped the hand of the man standing to her right. Throughout the Moot, Fornice kept glancing up at the figure with his richly embroidered robes with their blood red hem. His arm and forehead were covered in white cotton bandages, and what little flesh did show sported many cuts and bruises. His black hair no longer looked greasy and matted, but well kept and clean, but one thing hadn't changed since Fornice last saw this man, and that was the wide-eyed look of survival in his eyes.

Elisif turned her adorned head to look at the man she now held. ''Then tell me, Bjornrick, where are your brothers?''

The man looked down at his mother with sorrow plastered on his face.

''In Sovngarde, mother, for they died fighting against the demonic beings sent to kill us. These mages locked us away in a great cavern of pain and death, promising that we would be dead within the week, and for Sunhal and Fjell they were correct. We were in our cages one night, thinking how unjust our situation was -''

Only Peric saw the small squeeze that Elisif gave her sons hand, and as he looked down at her, she mumbled something to him, and Peric would've sworn on his life that she said ''Don't overdo it.'' He looked around for anyone who had understood, but all he saw were looks of curiosity amongst those gathered around. They had seen her say something, but knew not what.

Bjornrick turned back to the crowd and continued. ''And then suddenly three great beasts of ice burst into the cavern. One was already in the room but was passive, but as soon as the other three joined it, all four tried to kill us. They were Frost Atronachs, yes?'' Bjornrick stared directly at Fornice, and this remark was a direct confrontation. If she said the wrong thing, then there would be no doubt of her guilt. There was a silence while she thought of the right thing to say.

''We do indeed have four Frost Atronachs to guard The Chill, as our prison is commonly known, but three of them are only ever ordered to remain outside-''

''Arch-Mage, my son said they entered when you were not present. How can you be sure they did not enter?'' Asked Elisif.

''For we found the remains of three Atronachs outside on the ice,'' said Fornice without hesitation. Elisif slowly turned to look at her son.

''After they smashed apart my cage to get at me, I evaded them, and blasted the locks off of my brother's cages, and we tried to escape these murderous beasts, and we got rid of one as we made our escape, but the other three persuade us. Fjell and Sunhal never stood a chance.'' Bjornrick hung his head, and held tight to his mother's hand, as if she was the only thing keeping him standing. He lifted his head, and his eyes were red and puffy, and a single tear trailed its path down his cheek and dripped onto the table. A reminder of just one more story to pass its way.

''You see, Jarls of Skyrim, these mages locked away my sons, sentenced them to days of numbing cold, and when they tired of my boys, they sent monsters to dispose of them,'' Queen Elisif said, looking each and every Jarl in the eye before moving on to the reason why they were all there. The was a pause in her speech while she stared with hatred into Fornice's eyes. ''You and your people are barely even human,'' she whispered.

''Do you not ever wonder why they were imprisoned. Do you not stop to think that there must be a reason why we locked them up?'' Fornice asked while leaning forward in her chair. ''They were caught trying to escape from the College after stealing several extremely valuable artefacts including the Staff of Magnus itself. We weren't willing to just take back the items and let them go,'' she spat.

''Yet that is not a reason for them to be killed. You went above the law here, Arch-Mage, and you must pay for it.''

''Your majesty, I did not kill them! We put the Atronach's outside to guard the prison, and your sons must have escaped. You cannot fault us for that,'' said Fornice indignantly.

Elisif rose quickly, shooting daggers at Fornice. She breathed heavily for several moments before roaring at Fornice with more fury than anyone thought the High Queen had.

''Arch-Mage, two of my sons are dead by your hand. You employ Daedra to watch over mortals. They know only death and destruction. You cannot have monsters with more power than men. It's tyrannical!'' She started to slowly walk around the table, brushing past every Jarl that sat around it, and when she got to Fornice she stopped. Fornice never turned around. She knew Elisif was behind her, yet in her defiance she refused to look at her queen. Elisif growled with rage and grabbed the hair at the back of Fornice's head. The Arch-Mage cried out in pain, but Elisif did not release her grip.

''This woman has committed atrocious crimes against Skyrim's own Royal Family, and in extension, Skyrim itself. What say you, slattern? Does you College offer themselves up freely, or must I burn it to the ground?'' Though in great pain, Fornice managed to shove the High Queen off of her, and she too stood up, matching Elisif's height.

''The College burn? Nay, what crimes have they committed? You said it yourself, it was I that killed your sons, why accuse the innocent?'' Peric stared at Fornice. She had just confessed to murder. Nothing could save her now, but he was in awe of her, as she had just given up her life for the chance that the College may survive, and she didn't bat an eyelash.

''They surely knew of your crimes, you must surely have spouted it about the College, did you not?''

''Aye, I did, but what of it?''

''There was no retribution, no punishment, no uproar? No. Then they are guilty in your crimes as well. They may as well have struck the blow themselves. They are guilty of assisting you in your evil, which, on account of homicide, is also punishable by death.''

''So kill me where I stand! But do not the other Eight Rulers of Skyrim have a say in this also? You do not run this nation alone, Elisif as much as you would like to,'' Fornice spat. Elisif simply smiled at her and turned to those gathered around the worn table, staring dumbfounded at what has just unfolded.

''So tell me, Rulers of Skyrim, what side do you choose, Skyrim, or the Mages?'' There was silence. No one wanted to speak first, no one wanted to condemn, or be condemned, just as it would look like Elisif would have to question each one individually, Jarl Skald the Elder of The Pale, grabbed his stick from where it was resting against the table, and he shakily lifted his old frame from his chair.

After Elsif had been crowned High Queen after the Legion victory in Skyrim's Civil war, one of her first acts were to reinstate all previous Jarl's to their positions. The victory had been so sudden, that the Eastern Holds were left reeling from the impact, and having new Jarl's that they did not know nor trust simply made the situation worse, so, as long as they swore to remain loyal to Skyrim and the Legion, the previous Jarl's could retake their posts.

''Your Highness,'' croaked Skald. ''I stand with Skyrim and her people. I had no love for Mages before this trial, ad now all I hold for them is contempt. My soldiers are your soldiers, my fortresses are yours also.'' And with that he sat down back into his chair, relieved for the rest. He knew he did not have much longer left, but he did not fear death. Elisif nodded to Jarl Skald in approval, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone, Jarl of Hjaalmarch stood up. Though she was as old as Skald, and some tales said she was even older, she did not need a stick or support to stand. It was said that her own magics kept her strong. It was no secret that she had visions, or could even cast some spells, but Elisif hoped this would not effect her judgement, but Fornice, Peric and Tolfdir all prayed that this could mean she was sympathetic to them.

''High Queen, I shall support you, but on a condition. Morthal is still being plagued by vampires. We sent you a plea for help, yet you refused us. I lost four good men getting here, and I shall not let any more of them die. Give me the soldiers I need to rid Morthal of this curse, and you can have my armies and lumber.'' Idgrod speaking of vampires reminded Peric of Onmund, and his story in the Longhouse. Peric and Onmund had been close ever since they first came to the College, and Peric hoped beyond hope that he would return and see Onmund and the others again.

Elisif thought for a moment about what Idgrod was asking before responding.

''Very well. You have full control over all Legionnaires stationed in Fort Snowhark, but only until the vampire menace is dealt with.''

''Thank you, your majesty,'' Idgrod said while sitting down. Peric's heart fell. That was just one more enemy to add to the list, but from all he had heard, Jarl Idgrod was a kind, just woman, and it just went to show what desperation could do. If her city was not under attack, then Peric was sure she would have at least shown some sympathy to the College, but desperation does not allow you to think of others.

This pattern repeated itself over and over. Each Jarl proclaimed their allegiance to Elisif, and declared their support to her mission to destroy the College. All the time Fornice, Tolfdir and Peric sat in their chairs, fear emanated from them, as one by one the great leaders of Skyrim condemned them to their fate, yet each one asking a price, a manor in Solitude, a few extra guards, a new watchtower that they don't have funding for. Such small things, considering they condemned a community to death, and all three knew without a shadow of a doubt that Elisif would not rest until they were dead.

It came that only two Jarl's remained. Jarl Korir of Winterhold, and Jarl Laila Law-Giver of the Rift. At this point the mages had satisfied themselves that they and all they loved would be burned, and yet they stayed. The constant presence of the High Queen kept them rooted in place. She had become queen for a reason, she wasn't just a pompous noble who had inherited a dying crown. No. She could manipulate her very being to get exactly what she desired. Right now she was a tall, strong woman with a vice-like grip on the table in front of her, and her very being breathed violence. Fornice knew that at any provocation those long nails would be tearing at her eyes, yet she also knew that at a moments notice High Queen Elisif could become the sweetest dove to ever grace Skyrim, if it suited her.

''Jarl Laila, let's be quick about this. Are you with Skyrim, yes or no?'' Said Elisif, a sense of boredom hanging over her. Jarl Laila looked around. She was not the strongest, nor the most fierce person in that room, but she was far from the weakest. She had fought her way up to Jarldom through Riften's corrupt and dangerous infrastructure casting out the old and tyrannical Jarl and placing her and her family as the new, pure rulers of one of Skyrim's most unstable Holds. She did her best to eradicate crime from her city, but no one actually believed she could, not with a woman like Maven Black-Briar pumping money into the Thieves Guild, yet ever since she became Jarl people felt a lot safer in the streets of their city, as, thanks to Laila's efforts, Riften had one of the largest guard forces in Skyrim, second only to Solitude's.

Laila stood up and looked around at the other Jarls. Her mousy hair was held back by a silver circlet, and a blue, fur-trimmed dress hugged her frame. Her eyes did not betray her thoughts, though her brows were slightly furrowed. Her eyes finally rested on the mages, and Tolfdir could have sworn he saw her give the tiniest of nods.

''My Queen, you do not need my support to launch a successful assault on the College, correct?''

''Correct.''

''Yet you would brand me as a traitor if I did not side with you?''

''Correct.''

''Then I choose to fight for Skyrim, yet, my Queen, I am only with you in spirit. My men are too busy fighting crime in Riften to be sent out to a frozen wasteland to fight mages, and all resources in my hold are needed to care for my people.'' Elisif's eyes narrowed as Laila proclaimed her terms.

''Jarl Laila, I accept your allegiance for now, but you better prove yourself worthy in the future.'' Laila nodded to Elisif but cast a quick glance at the mages before sitting down.

Those tiny gestures, those small acts of defiance by Jarl Laila Law-Giver was all Fornice needed to restart the fire inside her. Moments before, she had given up all hope, yet that tiny nod, that glance the refusal to give troops or resources, and it had all come rushing back. Now the gears in her head were once again turning, and an escape plan forming.

''Jarl Korir.''

''Yes, my Queen?'' Korir said, looking up from his hands that he had clasped on the table.

''You must abolish all ties you have with the College. They are the enemy, and we are the righteous. We shall not harm your town. In fact, it will be a great bastion in the war against the College, so are you with me?'' Every person in that room leaned in so as not to miss a thing. Each one of them knew the stakes here, and whatever Jarl Korir's outcome was, they knew it would be good.

''My Queen, I refuse to believe that you will leave my town unscathed,'' said Korir, standing up to look Elisif in the eye. She had been looking down on him, and he did not like that one bit. ''You will use it as a fortress, and once the mages burn it to the ground you will run back to Solitude and leave my people to starve, but say you do win and my town still stands, then there would be no College, and without the College, why would anyone come to Winterhold? My town would dry up, and my people would die. Whoever wins, my people will perish, so no, your majesty, I will not side with you.'' Fornice sat in shock at Korir's words. Of all the people in the room, she had expected Korir to be Elisif's most loyal supporter, and now that hope inside of her had grown into courage, and a determination to survive.

''Jarl Korir, you do realise that if you side with those monsters, then I will burn your town to the ground, and I will leave your hold to rot anyway?'' Elisif said very slowly. She did not want Korir to complicate things by getting in the way.

''No, you won't, because I won't let you. You underestimate the power that these mages have. I have seen them fight, and I know you're going to have trouble bringing them down, and if they have the armies of Winterhold by their side, then you better make sure you're prepared.''

''Korir, you may have a fortress of mages by your side, but it's still eight holds against one. You _will_ lose, but I tire of this,'' Elisif said turning away from Korir and the mages and turned to face the many guards around the perimeter of the room. ''You heard the Jarl, he is guilty of treason. Detain him and the mages. They will hang tomorrow morn,'' she said with a wave of her hand. As one the guards all drew their steel swords and advanced towards the mages, the sound of steel boots on the stone floor rang through the room, and the light from the candle reflected off of their armour, casting spots of light around the room. On their red uniform, the emblem of Haarfingar, the face of a wolf, stared out at them. They were being surrounded by wolves, and any moment those wolves would pounce.

Everyone around the table jumped up, ready to run if needs be, and Fornice and Korir took a few steps back so that they stood with Peric and Tolfdir. The guards slowly walked forward, and soon they were backed up against the wall, with guards closing in on three sides.

''Peric, this is why you're here,'' said Fornice, keeping her eyes on the guards, watching out for when they pounced.

''Arch-Mage, get ready to run. Watch for my-'' but he was cut off, as two of the guards lunged forward and grabbed him. More soldiers ran forward to grab Tolfdir, Fornice and Korir. Four more guards walked over to them holding Malur and Kai between them who had been backed into a different corner.

''Well, that was easy,'' said Elisif with an evil grin. ''These six traitors will be hanged tomorrow morning in the market. Make sure everyone knows. Take them away.'' Elisif turned to walk out of the hall, glad the whole ordeal was over. The guards started to drag the prisoners away, wanting to get them into the dungeons as fast as possible. Every prisoner started to struggle against and shout at their captors, and Elisif turned around, wanting to see them squirm, but one of them didn't struggle or say a word. Peric simply stood there with a lopsided smile on his face, allowing himself to be taken, but it was when he was in the centre of the room that without warning a great wave of red mist and light burst forth from him, and every guard was enveloped in this light. Within a few seconds it had dissipated but everyone knew something was wrong. In a great frenzy, the guards had dropped their prisoners and had drawn their weapons and were now charging at each other with a great magic-induced fury in their eyes, and a slight red ethereal glow about them. Elisif was too far way for the spell to effect her, so was Bjornrick and the Jarls, but a few of their housecarls and a steward or two had been caught up in the fray, including Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath's entire platoon of bodyguards.

The motley group from Winterhold wasted no time in running for the door, and while the rest of the room was focused on the unfolding bloodbath, Jarl Laila grabbed Korir's arm and gave him a decisive nod before pushing him out the door.

* * *

Solitude's streets were surprisingly quiet in contrast to the uproar in Castle Dour. The six had emerged into the Imperial Soldier Training Courtyard, one of the worst places they could be, and in a few minutes, every nearby soldier would be hunting them down, so they needed to get out. Fast.

''Afternoon. Can you please tell us which way to the stables?'' Asked Jarl Korir to one of the guards stationed outside with all the calmness in the world.

''Just go through the portcullis to your left and go through the market and out the main gate. Keep following the road, and you can't miss it,'' said the guard who sounded slightly muffled through his full helmet.

The six set off at a brisk pace the way the guard had pointed. They passed the blacksmith who was hammering heavily on an anvil, making what looked like two dozen Legion uniforms, and then they passed down a narrow staircase hanging with moss.

It unnerved them how many guards there were. On every corner stood a man or woman in crimson uniform staring out at the crowd, and every few minutes, a large patrol went through the market, and it was very hard for them not to act suspicious. Of course they knew people would now be persuing them, but if they acted calm, they stood a chance of escape.

They had got half way through the market square when they heard a commotion behind them. They turned around, and out of Castle Dour poured dozens of Legionnaires They needed to get of the city, and to get out fast. They started to push through the people, not even caring if they drew attention to themselves. All of their efforts were now on escape.

Fornice sprinted as fast as she could, knocking whoever stood in her way to the ground, Kai and Malur stood shoulder to shoulder, throwing people aside, Korir shouted at people with all his Nordic fury to step aside, and not a single person argued, but lagging behind was Tolfdir and Peric. Tolfdir being old could not run as fast as the others, and Peric refused to leave the old man, but they were still making good progress with Tolfdir shooting fire into the air to scare people away, and Peric using fear spells at the crowd who would then flee in terror.

In a matter of minutes they had sprinted out of the main gate, the guards after them lost in the crowd, and yet their flight was not over. They still had the road leading down to the stables and the docks to contend with, and that was not going to be easy. The main group waited for Tolfdir and Peric to bound the last few steps before tackling the guard tower that straddled the road. Two guards on top were pointing arrows at the group, while the two guards at the gate drew their swords and charged forward. Kai used the momentum of one of the guards to lift him over his shoulder and drop him on the ground before stomping on his throat. Tolfdir and Fornice shot lightning at the guards on the tower who fired their arrows and took cover behind the stonework. In their haste, the arrows were ill aimed and missed the casters, but the threat of them in the tower was still present. Jarl Korir had drawn his sword and was sharing blows with the second gate guard before Peric froze the guard's sword arm, who was quickly finished off with a stab to the torso by Korir.

''What do we do about the tower guards? We don't 'ave time to wait 'em ou', nor climb the tower after 'em?'' Said Malur.

''We run and hope they don't have a good aim,'' growled Kai before sprinting towards the tower, his long, blonde hair flowing behind him, and his pale blue Winterhold regalia glowing in the noon-day sun. The others looked at each other before running after him, once again Tolfdir and Peric falling behind.

They had just cleared the tower, and were now running away from it when the archers reappeared. They instantly set their sights on the stragglers and readied their bows.

''Come on you two, you need to be faster!'' Shouted Fornice, but there was nothing either Tolfdir nor Peric could do to catch up, and Tolfdir turned his head just as the arrows were released, and out of impulse, he grabbed Peric and shoved the Breton behind him. There was a moment of stillness and shock as everyone stopped to see Tolfdir standing there with two arrow shafts protruding from his chest. Peric stood behind him with his hand over his mouth, almost hyperventilating.

But Fornice knew there was something more. She stood there studying the old man, before her face cracked into a smile. She had seen the pale green light that surrounded Tolfdir.

''Come on, old man, before they reload,'' she called, and Tolfdir dropped his shield spell, and the two arrows fell harmlessly to the ground. He turned to smile at Peric before grabbing his wrist and running after the others.

They rounded a corner, and the stables were in their sights. All they needed to do was run that bit further, and then they would be clear.

_Where's the carriage?_ Thought Korir. In fact, none of the carriages brought by the Jarls could be seen.

''They must have been taken up to the city during the Moot. We'll have to find another way,'' said Kai, knowing that everyone was thinking the same thing.

''We have two choices; steal a boat down by the docks,'' said Peric, gesturing to sign that said _Dock_ , ''Or we could steal some horses.''

''It's too risky and time consuming to take a ship, and besides, only Kai here knows how to sail, and not through the icy waters near Winterhold,'' said Korir.

''So horses it is. Come on,'' said Fornice, walking towards the stables.

The Solitude Stable, also known as Katla's Farm was empty, as most people were out in the fields tending to crops, and the only life was an old dog lying in the sun, and a couple of hens clucking around him. To the left stood the stable house, and inside were four horses.

''Crap. Looks like we're gonna have to share. Who can't ride?'' Said Kai, and only Peric raised his hand.

''Peric can ride with me,'' said Fornice.

''And Malur, we'll share,'' said Kai, jumping onto a white mare. Korir chose a similar horse and mounted it, while Tolfdir found a mottled horse. Fornice led Peric to a black mare and leapt on gracefully. Peric, with quite a bit of trouble and much help from Fornice, managed to climb onto the mount just as Kai heaved Malur onto his horse.

''We need to get back to Winterhold as soon as possible,'' said Korir. ''So we'll ride hard until we're a good way into Hjaalmarch.''

Everyone agreed, and they sped off just as the guards rounded the corner to the stables.


	6. Six

The water from one of the many stagnant pools that dotted the hold of Hjaalmarch lapped noisily against the hooves of the horses that grumpily splashed and tramped their way through the dirty green swamp. The air hummed with the drone of the thousands of gnats and mosquitoes that flew around the weary group of riders and steeds. They bit both in equal measures, causing great red welts to form all over their bodies. The beasts tried to flick the insects away with their tails, but their sides and underbellies were covered in bites, driving them nearly as insane as their riders who also suffered marks wherever they couldn't swat away the blood suckers.

''Well, this is a mess,'' muttered Fornice while itching a particularly nasty group of welts on her arm.

''These bloody bugs will drive me to the brink if we don't get out of this God's forsaken swamp,'' said Korir, almost falling off his horse as it stepped in a particularly deep pool.

''I meant the whole 'High Queen trying to destroy The College' situation, but no, insects are bad.''

''Well, we'd be quicker on the roads, mi' lady,'' said Malur, turning on his horse to face her.

''If one more person suggests we travel along the roads, I will personally fry them to ashes,'' growled Tolfdir from the rear of the line. ''It is far too dangerous and is sure to be patrolled. I for one would prefer being bitten by gnats than by the edge of a sword.''

''I'd rather take my chances,'' muttered Kai. He was the hardiest out of the group, and he could deal with the bugs and the damp. It was the smell that got to him, the musty, putrid smell of mould and rot that seeped into his clothes and clung at the back of his throat. He wanted nothing more than to be far away from the swamp and to have a nice warm bath.

''Bugs aren't our problem,'' said Fornice. ''Even patrols on the roads aren't. What we've got here is the entirety of Skyrim turned against our pathetic wasteland of a hold, and there's nothing we can do about it.''

''There was a time when Winterhold rivalled Solitude, but you mages went and cast the whole city into the sea, and now your kind has decided the scraps that are left should be burnt to the ground too,'' shouted Korir. His voice echoed through the marshes, and a stunned silence fell over the group. Peric knew that Jarl Korir held a grudge against mages, and that he blamed them for the state that Winterhold was in, but after everything that happened in the Moot he thought he had changed, or even all the things said about him were lies.

''Jarl Korir, you don't mean that, or else you would never have sided with us in the Moot,'' said Tolfdir gently.

''I did it not for you but for my city. Do not forget that.'' A shadow fell across his face. The contempt he felt now seeped back into the light. He knew full well without the mages Winterhold would now die, and he hated them for it. No decent Nord should have to rely upon their filth.

"Whether you like it or not, Korir," spat Fornice. "We're branded for the same crimes now. There is no use being a bigoted arse about it now."

"How dare you? I am your Jarl!" Roared Korir, stopping his horse to turn and face Fornice with fire in his eyes.

"We are all brothers and sisters in crime now. Even Peric here is equal to you. Aren't you, Peric?'' said Fornice with a smile. Peric just looked up at her without saying anything but gave a slow, shaky nod after a few moments. Fornice turned around to face Korir, and while her back was turned Peric leant around behind her and shone a beaming smile to Korir, remembering the conversation they had had the previous night. The Jarl stared at the boy for a second before his face cracked into a wide smile, and soon he was laughing, bellowing even. Fornice didn't know what was so funny and turned to face Peric who only offered a shrug while hiding a smile of his own.

"Well, Queen of Mages, you may be right there. I still don't trust spell-slingers, but I'm stuck with you, so you may as well be useful to us and help me win this bloody war you dragged us into,'' he chuckled. No one could tell how much was humour, but his light mood was better than one of his rages by a long shot.

"You actually think we can win this war, sir?'' asked Malur.

"By The Nine, of course I bloody don't! But we can give it our best shot,'' said Korir.

Fornice said: "I don't know. The College is a superb fortress, and we have hundreds of mages on our side. We might just stand a chance.''

''But I don't know how reliable you lot are. Sure, you're not total cowards. You took on that dragon pretty well, but we're up against armies. You may turn tail and flee when the horns of war ring out."

"We'll do no such thing!" blurted Peric who then shied away as attention turned to him.

"You sure about that, lad?" asked Kai with a grin.

"Well, yes. I know that we can defend our home like any soldier, and we wield twice as much power as them at least. Besides, we have our backs against the wall. There's nowhere we can run."

"A cornered rat's a dangerous rat as they say," said Korir, not one to pass up and insult.

Several minutes of silence followed with only the squelch of mud to break it, but then they heard Fornice whisper: "Queen of Mages. I like that."

* * *

Several hours of trudging through stinking bogs and stagnant pools turned the marsh into solid ground covered in a thick layer of snow, much to the relief of the company. They could handle snow and ice. Most of them were born to it, and the rest had pretty much grown to accept it as what most of Skyrim was; cold, bare and lifeless.

"Thank the bloody Nine for that! I don't think this poor beast could handle much more of that,'' said Kai, patting his horse affectionately. He had grown quite attached to the beast. Despite it having walked through the worst Skyrim had to offer, none of the horses protested, and they only plodded further onwards. Solitude could be faulted for many things but the breed of their horses was not one of them.

"Come on, we'll rest here for a while,'' said Korir, jumping off his horse. His boots made a soft crunch as they landed in the snow. "We'll have to clear these tracks when we leave," he said.

Fornice gracefully slid off her horse into the snow, a light dusting of it already sticking to the hem of her cloak. Compared to her, Peric practically fell off the horse. He lay sprawled in the snow for a few moments, his robes like a stubborn patch of autumn trying to push through winter. Fornice shook her head and helped him to his feet and let out a small giggle at the state of him. Snow was plastered to his back and the side of his face, making his right side turn numb. He quickly brushed as much of it off before it could melt and soak his clothes.

"Does anyone have a bloody clue where we are?" asked Kai, looking around for a landmark, but all he could see was a snow covered pine forest to his left and dark, craggy mountains to his right, its shadow cast over them like a dark omen.

"North-East of Morthal, near a mountain pass that will lead us into The Pale. From there we'll need to evade Skald's men before making our way to Winterhold. I have men stationed in a watch tower just inside the border. We can rest there for a while. There's no food. It's a wasteland after all," said Korir, brushing snow off a rock and sitting on it.

"This whole bloody Province is," muttered Peric before deciding to take a walk to stretch his legs after the long ride on the horse.

_What have we done? Now Onmund, Brelyna, J'zargo; every person I have ever met may end up being killed. I will end up being killed. I'm not afraid of death, just dying. Watching the world slip past me like that, watching everything I love fade away. I don't want that. Love. That's a strange word to use. I've never loved. I mean, not in the sex sense. Damn that's lonely. Onmund and Brelyna better be in love. I want them to be happy before the end. No. Peric. Stop. We may well win this. There's only one way in the College and one way out, which is the narrowest bridge they could've possibly built. No army could hope to get across it. Not with all sorts of spells and arrows being shot at them._

He stood several feet away from the group, near the horses. He turned away from the others who were sat on the ground in a circle. He walked towards the horses, patting the one he had ridden affectionately on the nose. The horse snorted and nudged into his hand. He'd never ridden a horse before, but he kind of liked it.

"You alright there girl? I'm sorry I don't have any food, but once we get home I'll make sure to bring you as many apples as you want. How does that sound?'' The horse only snorted in response.

"Stop talking to the horses, boy and come sit with us." Peric turned around and saw Kai beckoning him over. Peric trudged towards the others and took his place in the circle.

"We'll need allies of course," said Tolfdir. "Us mages and a handful of soldiers aren't going to stop the armies of Skyrim.

"One problem with that: There is no other hold on our side!" exclaimed Korir.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," said Peric. "Jarl Laila didn't exactly approve of Elisif's decision. She is their weak link."

"Oh, I wouldn't call her weak. Not in the least. She was strong to defy Elisif, however slight. When the time comes, she will be with us. I am sure of it," said Fornice with enough certainty to half convince the gathered party.

"Even with 'er highness, it's no' enough to take on the other holds. They still 'ave us beat three to one nearly," said Malur.

Before anybody could respond, they heard a movement. Each of them cast their eyes towards the snow covered rocks near the mountains, but they couldn't see anything except that dazzling snow and comparatively jet rocks.

Kai drew his sword. "Can't any of you mages see what's there? I don't want anything getting me while my back's turned."

"I'm on it," said Tolfdir. He slowly lifted his left hand in front of his face. A few seconds later a purple haze began to seep from his fingertips. It filled up the air in front of him until you could hardly see his face, apart from two glowing points penetrating the mist. Those points could see into you. Those points could see right through you.

Suddenly the haze was gone, and Tolfdir was once more the sweet old man, all apart from the confusion on his face.

"There's something about eight feet tall heading right for us, but," and he paused, scanning the area. "But I don't see anything." The group turned, and the wasteland was as empty as ever. Nothing stirred. There was no footprint. There was no sign of life.

"Tolfdir, you're going crazy old man," said Kai, but before he could laugh at his own joke, the snow moved. It exploded outwards right under his feet. He was sent flying several feet before he hit the snow hard. He would've certainly been hurt bad if it was on solid ground.

Eight foot of rippling muscle and bleached fur stood in front of Korir. Its massive paws bore yellowing talons, and its maw dripped a retched mix of saliva and bile from between needle like yellow fangs. It dripped onto the snow to freeze into a sickly yellow mess. Each of its three eyes swivelled independently. Its wiry framed clung to the bone, and muscle shot out from the skin. The troll looked like it hadn't eaten in weeks, and had a half crazed look about it.

It lashed out and gave a sudden swipe at Korir who fell to the ground with a deep gash on his face. He struggled to get back up again, but the troll kicked him with a clawed foot, and Korir was sent rolling several feet. Blood seeped from a tear in his once luxurious, but now travel stained cloak.

Peric backed himself away from the troll. He had never seen anything so repulsive. It wasn't so much the looks, but the stench almost made him heave. The smell of rotting flesh, and putrefied meat would haunt him for many years. He would gladly soak himself in swamp water before tackling a troll.

The troll in its hunger induced craze turned away from the group and charged with more speed than any of the others thought possible towards the horses. It let out a hollow cry that grew in pitch as it grew in volume, until it let out a shriek that pierced through the group's skulls.

"Fornice, do something!" shouted Tolfdir. The horses were still tethered to a rock, and despite their desperate attempts to free themselves, the ropes would not snap. They reared and neighed in fear, but the troll was pounding towards them, fists and feet slapping on the ground, propelling it ever onwards.

"What can I do? Trolls don't respond well to magic, and its wounds would simply close up moments after they're made." The troll had reached the first of the horses and had bit into its neck. The horse let out a terrible scream and tried to kick out, but the troll plunged its claws into its flank over and over, until blood stained the snow, and the horse lay dead atop it.

"There must be something," said Peric, desperately trying to wrack his brains while another horse was clawed apart. "Frost. No, that won't work. Must have some resistance. Shock would work, but could take too long. I don't even think a calm spell could work on a creature that starving." The second horse now lay in the snow, its left flank bloody and mutilated. It let out small screams and ragged gasping breaths before its throat was slit. "Shit. Come on, come on. Must be something."

"Fire," said a voice behind them. They turned to see Malur looking at them with shocked realisation lighting up his wrinkled and twisted face. His red eyes glowed bright with the light of a hopeful idea "Trolls are weak to fire! Go on, hurry!" he said, shoving Peric a step or two towards the troll.

Three fireballs found their mark. The troll let out a shriek of pain as its fur burst into bright flames, and its skin started to bubble and melt. The blast had also burnt through part of the rope holding the horses, and the remaining two bolted towards the forest. No one could hope to catch them and could only stand there and watch their rides leave without them. The troll now writhed on the floor. It arched its back and flailed its limbs in pain as the last of its body was consumed by fire.

"Poor girl. She was hungry that's all," said Fornice.

"Don't feel sorry for her," said Peric. "She just cost us our horses."

"I can't help it. You know, she probably ate her own children before getting to that stage."

"I don't give a Skeever's hide. We now have to walk, and I don't know about you, but the sooner we get to a warm tavern the better," said Korir, who was holding his side while helping a dizzy Kai to his feet.

"Korir! Let me heal you. That gash looks bad," said Fornice rushing over to him and placing her hands on his stomach.

"No, it's fine, really." But a golden glow was already rising from the two of them and started to swirl around them. Kai could feel the warmth radiate off of it, and even he started to feel a bit better. Korir's flesh started to slap back together, causing him quite a bit of pain, but he just grit his teeth and bit into his long, brown beard. Soon the muscle and skin was only throbbing a dull red.

"Well, now that's sorted we better get a move on. I want to be within Winterhold as soon as possible," said Korir striding along the wasteland towards The Pale.

"He likes to forget I can easily rip him open again," laughed Fornice sadistically and strolled gracefully after him, followed shortly by the others. Tolfdir grumbled about his 'poor old legs' before starting at a quick trot, bringing up the rear.


	7. Seven

"It's the Jarl!" shouted down the guard from atop the watch tower. He was the youngest of the soldiers stationed on the border. He was only in his twenties, but he had a good eye and was handy with a bow, so he was often put on watch duty. He didn't mind it on clear days like this one, but when the blizzards struck it was all he could do to keep the bottle of mead in his hands and keep the small fire lit. "He's with a few others. I think the Housecarl's one of them."

"I thought he was coming back by carriage. You going daft boy?" said a much gruffer voice from the staircase that led to the roof.

"I'm sure it's him Captain. He's wearing the Helm of Winterhold sir."

"There must be something wrong. Where's his carriage, and why haven't they taken the road?" There was a pause when a sudden thought overcame Captain Rolf. "Boy, is the Arch-Mage with him?"

The boy leaned over the edge and narrowed his eyes, trying to see more detail on the figures that were still some distance away. "There's a tall woman in a blue robe. She's got some wild kinda hair."

"That's her alright. None of this can be good, but I guess we'll find out what's going on soon."

Four guards stood to attention outside of Snowpoint Beacon, so named because in times of old a great fire would be lit at the top of the tower when the armies of The Pale approached during the many wars that shaped Skyrim. This let the other half a dozen towers along Winterhold's western border know they were under attack. Nowadays, only two towers are left standing; Snowpoint Beacon and Frostflow Lighthouse, and only Snowpoint is still garrisoned.

Jarl Korir and escort stumbled towards the waiting guards looking bedraggled and travel worn. Their eyes had sunk into their faces, and deep bags had appeared underneath them. Their hair was filthy and mattered, and their clothes, which had been freshly laundered only three days hence, looked in a state beyond repair. Captain Rolf hadn't quite expected the sight before him and broke rank to hurry towards the Jarl, now only a few feet away from the Beacon.

"My Jarl, what happened? Has there been some trouble? Is there anything I can do?" Jarl Korir, hunched over with days of travel and no food, his beard and hair lank with grime and grease grabbed hold of the Captain's arm for support and looked pathetically up at him.

"Captain," he said in a weak husk of his normally booming voice. "We need food, hot food. Anything you have. Please." Captain Rolf stared at his Jarl for a moment before glancing over at the other figures, none of whom looked in any better state than Jarl Korir. An old man looked on his last legs, his face creased in pain, a woman and a boy clung onto each other for support, their obvious wizard robes torn, creased and sodden with melted snow. The Captain recognised his Jarl's Steward and Housecarl. They both managed to stand up on their own, but seemed to be able to do little else. The hulking form of Kai Wet-Pommel now looked broken and ready to fall in the snow and not get up. Captain Rolf turned to the three remaining guards, who weren't quite what sure to do with themselves, and barked an order for them to prepare as much stew as possible.

"Do you need help, my Jarl, to make it inside?" asked Rolf with Korir still clutching to his arm.

"You can go and make sure there's a bath waiting for all of us. We've walked across Skyrim, I'm sure we can stumble to Snowpoint without collapsing." Captain Rolf bowed his head and followed his men hurriedly inside.

Several hours later, ten people were crowded around an old and worn table at the base of the tower. A fire burned in on corner, heating the room well above the freezing temperatures outside. On several stones above the fire rested a beaten pot filled with a thin, greasy stew lacking in both substance and taste, but after two days with no food the party wolfed down several bowls each before getting down to business.

"Captain Rolf, are there any horses at Snowpoint?" said Korir, wiping his mouth with his already grimy sleeve. No new clothes could be found for the party short of potato sacks, but they did manage to wash off most of the dirt from their bodies in the large copper bath in the storeroom.

"Only one my Jarl. She's in a stable out back," said Rolf, perched precariously on a shoddily crafted crate that usually held fruit from the south of Skyrim, but since the guards at Snowpoint had used all such luxuries several months before, it now served as a makeshift seat.

"Send your fastest rider to Winterhold with a message to my Thane and whoever holds power at the College. Tell them that we prepare for war. Arm the men. Man the defences. Tell them every able hand is needed. Send your rider along the roads. The Glacier Fields can easily overcome even a soldier of Winterhold, and this message _must_ arrive." Rolf bowed his head and beckoned over a tall man with matted blonde hair, a nose that must have been broken several times before and a scar that ran from his temple to his chin. The guard nodded his consent and hurried to gather supplies.

"The news you tell worries me greatly Jarl Korir. I fear Jarl Skald seeks to attack Snowpoint. Yesterday, my men spotted several battalions of Pale soldiers entering Fort Dunstad to the South-West. We cannot defend ourselves against them if they do attack," said Rolf looking down in worry.

"I make sure Snowpoint Beacon is garrisoned with enough men to survive a siege of this tower, and yet here we are with only four men barely able to sweep the floors. Where are my soldiers Rolf?"

* * *

The shadow of Fort Fellhammer muffled the rapid approach of several shadowed figures. Their dark cloaks brushed against snow covered bushes, causing little flurries of snow to rise above the icy ground. The twin moons were hidden behind a passing snow cloud, so the figures remained hidden in darkness. They were only a few feet from the wall when torchlight passed worryingly nearby. They froze where they were, a light breeze ruffling their cloaks, and they prayed it would not give them away. Two bandits dressed in thick, mismatched furs walked along the wall twelve feet above their heads. One of them looked to be an Imperial and held the torch above his head. The two men were talking animatedly.

"You think old Irontooth will be back with the next haul anytime soon?" said the Imperial, wrapping his furs tighter around himself.

"He'll be here in the morning by what I heard," said the second man. The light of the flame glittered on the hefty warhammer strapped to his back.

Several agonising moments passed before the pool of light had passed over the shadowed figures. The lead shadow raised his hand as a signal to keep moving, and within a minute people were pressing themselves against the Eastern wall of the fort.

"There's a side entrance here. They're not stupid enough to leave it unguarded, but they expect attacks from the road, not in the direction of the wilderness," said Rolf pulling down his hood. The rest did the same, exposing their faces to the bitter night air. The company was eight men strong, including Rolf and two guards from the tower. Malur had stayed behind to keep lookout. He had no experience with a weapon other than his dagger and only knew very basic battle magic. He would also have a prime view of Fort Fellhammer from atop the tower, so if the battle went well or ill, a message would reach Winterhold.

"On my call we charge. Take out as many as you can before they can launch an assault back," Korir said. "Peric, try and get as many to attack each other as possible, okay?" Peric nodded nervously. It was up to him to distract the majority of the bandits while the others finish whoever was left.

Several agonising seconds passed as a different patrol passed above them, but Korir and company were safely under the shadow of the wall.

"Charge!" Called out Korir as soon as they had passed, and as one the group rushed through the opening in the wall that served as the Eastern gate. A single Nord woman stood guard in the entrance, but she was quickly taken out by a blow to the chest from Rolf's axe. Two bandits near the gate got cut down by Kai, and Fornice shot down an archer with a firebolt. Three Archers on top of the Keep shot down a volley of arrows onto the group, Rolf catching two of them on his shield and another piercing the snow next to Peric's feet.

The remaining wall patrols were now swarming into the courtyard, brandishing claymores and axes and shouting war cries. Soon the group was being penned in against the southern wall, near the barricaded gate.

"Peric, now!" Korir shouted while parrying a blow from a heavy set Nord with a large steel axe. More bandits were now pouring out of the Keep having heard the sounds of battle. Leading them was a battle-scarred Dunmer dressed only in furs and wielding a bolt of electricity in each hand.

"Behind the smelter!" Korir shouted, pointing to a sturdy dome of rusted iron that melted down ores. "We need to get behind cover, now!" he shouted as they ran towards it. The two guards with bows fired the occasional arrow at the attackers as the group retreated, and Tolfdir and Fornice aided them with a few choice spells, but during their haste only a few projectiles found their mark, and only then embedded themselves in shields or left a few burns. If they were going to win this, they needed new tactics.

Once behind the smelter, the group could hear arrows ping off the iron forge, but every now and then an arrowhead would go right passed it and break upon the wall.

"Peric, we need you to take them out," Rolf said, grabbing hold of Peric's shoulder with a crushing grip.

"If I so much as peek out from behind here, I'll get an arrow lodged in my eye. There must be another way," Peric said pleadingly. Fear welled up inside him, and only pride stopped him from turning tail and running away.

"Are you a coward boy? If you were one of my men I'd have you whipped for that," Rolf shouted at Peric with fire in his eyes. Peric cowered before the hulking Nord, and he felt ashamed. He would never be able to defend Winterhold if he couldn't do this.

"I-I'll need your shield," Peric said nervously. Rolf hesitated for a brief moment before unbuckling himself from his shield and handing it to Peric, who almost dropped it due to its weight. He hoisted the wooden shield onto his arm, trying to even the weight out but to no avail. He gave a brief nod to Rolf before taking a deep breath. He could hear the sounds of marching feet heading towards the smelter. It was now or never.

Two arrows were shot at Peric as soon as he ran out from behind cover, but he ducked behind the shield and kept running. He had only a few seconds to see the courtyard, now almost filled with bandits of all descriptions, from the weedy Bosmer archers to the hulking Nord barbarians, and in the centre of it ill stood the Dunmer mage who launched a fireball at Peric. He managed to jump aside just in time to spare him any greater harm than singed robes, and moments later fell to the ground to avoid a dangerous looking ice spike. He scrambled to his feet and stood facing the horde now shouting battle cries and threats of disembowelment at him. Without hesitation, he raised one of his hands in a sign of peace, showing them he had no weapons. The Dunmer then hushed the crowd with a single gesture.

"What is it you want boy?" asked the Dunmer as if he jangled the keys to the Jarl's palace. There was silence for a few seconds while Peric looked through the crowd, trying to judge whether his plan would work. "You and your friends have the audacity to attack this Fortress, and then you offer a sign of peace. What have you to say?"

"I say," Peric paused for a moment. "I say you should never give a mage a chance to speak." A brilliant red light burst forth from Peric's hand and slammed into the archers atop the Keep, and two more collided with the crowd of warriors before him. A second of silence followed before chaos broke out. It started with a single Redguard warrior rising above the others and bellowing a shout the likes of which Peric had never heard. It seemed to shake the very ground he stood on, and he wondered if he had made his spell too powerful. In one fluid motion, the Redguard had jumped onto an Imperial by him and sliced off his head with his axe before doing the same to a Nord on his right. Without warning, half the warriors were now attacking their comrades with abandon, and the ones unaffected by the spell did their best to save themselves.

"Now!" Rolf shouted and the group charged forward towards the horde; fire, ice, lightning and arrows flying before them to fell several bandits.

The frenzied archers were causing more chaos than the warriors down below, and had felled a dozen of their brothers and sisters in arms. The Dunmer mage turned to look up towards them after slicing open one of his warriors, and with a fire in his eyes and hands he sent a stream of flames towards them. Within seconds, they were nothing but piles of ash.

Tolfdir knew the mage was bad news. If something wasn't done about him, then the whole mission would be jeopardised. He raised his arms, calling towards him snow and ice from around the courtyard. It swirled around him in some mystical wind and was complimented by ice from Tolfdir's own magic. Soon the old man could not be seen through the storm, and any bandit that stepped near him was ripped to shreds.

It moved slowly, too slowly. It crawled its way across the courtyard, obliterating anyone in its path with blades of ice and spears of frost. Most of the group ran from the snow storm and out of harm's way almost instantly, but Fornice was too busy fending off three frenzied bandits to notice Tolfdir's snow storm. She battled furiously against them with a conjured axe, lopping the head of one before turning to face the other two, but she never had time to battle them. A stray icicle from the storm clipped her leg, and she fell to the ground in pain. The ice spike almost went right the way through and had surely torn her tendon. The two bandits now advanced towards her, and she looked up at them in total terror, shock rendering her unable to defend herself.

Pain tore through Tolfdir's chest, not a physical pain, but guilt in its purest form. It was a warm mess that tugged lightly at his insides, pulling everything a little closer or a little further apart. As soon as the storm had left his fingers, he knew it was a bad decision. He had been careless and made it too powerful, and now Fornice was paying the price.

Within seconds she was gone. The screams from the bandits echoed from the blizzard. They got louder and louder as more of them were engulfed, and it slowly made its way towards the Dunmer mage who feebly backed away from the storm to no avail. There was nowhere he could go, because all that was behind him was the wall of the Keep, and there was no way he could get over that. With a blinding rage, Tolfdir pushed the storm ever faster. There was no way he could have stopped it for Fornice; no mage had that power, but it was his spell, and he could at least make sure it utterly destroyed who it was meant to kill.

The storm broke against the wall with an echoing boom that shook the ground. It dissipated with burst of icy wind, clearing the courtyard of noise and chaos. The group slowly crept out from where they were hiding behind barrels and broken masonry. All about them was strewn bodies and mangled corpses. The storm had certainly done its work, as in many places all that could be seen were pieces of ragged flesh and smears of blood. Nothing remained of the mage, only splatters of blood up the wall and on a blown out torch hung his fur cloak.

Pockets of fighting still remained here and there, but they were quickly quelled by a few well-placed arrows, but in the middle of the courtyard amongst the bodies and rubble, as if she was the High Queen, stood Fornice. Her hair was thick with frost and dust, and her robes were torn and bloody, but she was alive. She sat down in the snow to examine her leg and winced as she pulled up her robe. It wasn't pretty. Pale, dead flash flapped at the sides of the oozing wound like fish in a stream. The group ran up to her, all seeing if she was okay before Tolfdir pushed them away.

"Come on, give her space," he said softly as he gently pushed everyone away. He crouched down next to her, regret in his voice and eyes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to send it after you. I-I thought you were dead," he said, choking on a lump in his throat. "I thought I'd killed you."

Fornice looked up at him and smiled. "Never underestimate a sturdy Ward spell my friend." Her smile turned to a grimace of pain as her hand ran over the wound in her leg. Tolfdir looked down at it with a frown.

"You're going to need Collette to fix this up for you, but we should be able to stop the bleeding now," he said. His hands started to glow with the golden light of a healing spell as he ran them over the wound. Fornice joined in using what little magic she had left, but suddenly Tolfdir stopped. "I'm sorry, that was the last of my Magicka. The frost spell took most of it from me."

"Don't worry, I think I have enough," Fornice said while quickly continuing the work before the wound could reopen.

Within a few minutes, the blood flow had stopped, but her leg still looked like it needed a lot of work. "Do you think you can walk?" Korir asked Fornice.

"Well, help me up and we'll see," she said holding up her hand. Korir took it and gently eased her up. Once she was firmly on her feet, Korir let go of her arm. She managed to take two stumbling steps before stopping. "I can't feel anything in my leg. Is that bad?" She said, turning towards Korir.

"Yes, probably, but keep going." She took several more steps, each one more confident than the last until she could walk at a normal pace, albeit with a rather nasty limp. "That'll have to do Fornice," Korir said.

"My Jarl," Rolf said, nervously approaching Korir.

"Yes Captain?" He said, turning away from Fornice.

"When we were approaching the wall, one of the patrols talked about an 'Irontooth'. He said he'd be back in the morning. Does that sound like trouble to you?" There was a moment of silence where Korir simply stared at Rolf before suddenly turning and kicking a nearby barrel.

"Yes, Captain, yes it does," he said, calming down slightly. "We need to prepare for a siege. We don't know how many men Irontooth has or how powerful he is. You two," he said pointing to the two guards from the tower and hesitated a second to look at the state of them. Both of their armour was torn and scratched, and their helmets were dented in several places. "Are either of you seriously hurt?"

"No sir," one of them replied. "Only cuts and bruises, nothing serious."

"Good. I need you two to stand watch at the Keep entrance. We don't know who is still inside, and we don't have the manpower to find out. You are not to move from that spot until Irontooth arrives, am I clear?"

"Yes my Jarl," they both said whilst drawing swords and turning to face the door.

"Fornice, Peric. I want you two to go out and find as much wood as possible. Set up a bonfire in the courtyard to keep everyone warm. We need to prepare for a long night."

Morning dawned with silence and peace. The red light of a new sun burnt on the Eastern walls of Fort Fellhammer and glistened off the ice in thousands of pinpricks, like tiny suns themselves. The embers of a once roaring fire smouldered in the courtyard which at night had been lit in flames as red as the sun's morning light.

"Boy, it's light. Get ready," Rolf said to Peric who was warming himself by the fire. Peric gave a long yawn, mist pouring from his mouth. He got up and stamped his feet against the cold. He had been lying on the ground for only an hour or so, trying to get as much warmth from the dying fire as he could. No one slept much that night.

Atop the wall, looking South toward the main road, stood Korir watching for movement. He hadn't closed his eyes all night, and large bags hung from his bright, warrior-like eyes. Wind ripped through his hair and chilled his face, but he still did not move.

"We need this battle done with, so we can get back to Winterhold, and so Rolf can search this fort for his men," Fornice said, alerting Korir to her presence.

"I know, Fornice, but what can I do?" He said with anger in his voice.

"I never said you could _do_ anything," she said. She hesitated for a moment, deciding whether to continue, but spite got the better of her. She started to circle around him. "I don't get you Korir. You hate us. You hate me, but yet you tagged along for our little fight for survival. You threw away your Hold and people, yet you don't trust us. You feel bitter for your Thane sympathising with the College, yet we fought side by side last night. I healed you after that frost troll attack, and now you won't even look at me when I speak to you. What is wrong with you?" She spat at him.

Korir wheeled around and grabbed her arm. "Listen here. I do not need to make myself accountable to you. I stood here all night picturing my city burning, and do you know who I blame? Me." He leaned in closer. "I was taught by my father to hate everything about you and your people. He told me to take any opportunity to be rid of you, and I didn't. I let him down, Fornice, and for what, a petty rebellion which we have no chance of winning?" He pulled Fornice into him so he could whisper the last words to her. "I hate myself for my decisions, not you, but that does not mean we are friends or allies. We have a common enemy, and that is all that binds us. If we win or lose this war, and I'm telling you we have already lost, then I will hold no bond with you."

Fornice pulled away slightly and looked into Korir's eyes for a few moments. "I don't believe you."

Korir stared at her before throwing her away from him. "Go get the fire started again, and tell somebody to make some breakfast." Fornice grit her teeth and was about to launch into a tirade, but she composed herself, smoothed down her dress, and walked down the slippery stone steps into the courtyard.

Peric hastily spooned more stew into his mouth. It was hearty and warm, and that was all he needed, and he tried not to think where the meat had come from. He clutched the bowl tightly to warm his hands. He didn't know what the arrival of Irontooth would bring, but he hoped they'd scrape out of it.

"You need to save that soup boy," Kai said, walking up to stand next to Peric. He clutched a bowl of his own.

"The last meal I had was yesterday, and before that I hadn't had one for three days. You'll forgive me if eat this quick."

"It's the only thing keeping you warm until your Arch-Mage gets that fire going," he said, pointing to Fornice who was trying to light some barrels with a flame spell.

"Kai, do you think Jarl Korir and Arch-Mage Fornice did the right thing?" Peric asked, turning towards the warrior.

"I dunno kid. I've followed Jarl Korir for over a decade now, and I trust him, I do, but I don't know how we're gonna survive this war. We're outnumbered by odds I don't even wanna know, and our two fighting forces, the soldiers and your mages, are at odds with each other almost every day. We're divided, and because of that, we can't win."

"Perhaps," Peric began slowly. "Perhaps if you didn't separate yourself from the College by calling them my mages, we wouldn't be so divided. It's the small things that will bring Winterhold back together, and it starts with what you say, getting the soldiers and the mages to work together."

Kai looked down at the boy and smiled at him. "For a kid, you ain't half smart. I saw your confrontation with Jarl Korir back in Winterhold, remember? That was brave, kid, and I dunno, I think he likes you. He'd never say he respected a mage, but no one, citizen or mage, speaks to Jarl Korir like that, and I think he found it refreshing."

"Well, it certainly worked. He sided with the College for good or ill," Peric said, draining the soup from his bowl.

"Battle positions! Two dozen warriors approach from the South. Get ready!" Korir shouted down from the walls. Kai dropped his bowl to the ground, drew his sword and rushed towards the gate. Korir ran down from the wall and followed Kai, Rolf did the same. The two guards abandoned their posts and rushed to the walls, pulling the bows from their backs. Tolfdir, Fornice and Peric joined the archers.

In the distance marched a motley assortment of bandits surrounding a strange looking group of warriors which seemed to be dressed in white. Even from a distance, Peric could tell that the man at the front of the procession was at least a head taller than the rest. It had to be Irontooth.

After fifteen minutes, Korir and Kai wrenched open the gates and, accompanied by Rolf, stood outside the fort to greet Irontooth. Before them stood a hulking, scarred Orc with tusks protruding from his bottom lip. What little of him that wasn't covered in thick, iron armour rippled with muscle and anger.

"Who are you to greet me at my fort?" He demanded, pulling a large axe from a strap on his back.

"I am Jarl Korir of Winterhold, your Jarl in fact, and I command you to stand down. We have already taken this fort, and it would be wise for you to stand down." Korir took a step towards Irontooth.

"You hold no power over me. I am not a milk drinking villager for you to lord over. Where are my men?" Irontooth demanded in a loud, Orcish voice.

"We could very much ask you the same question," Rolf said, stepping forward.

Irontooth slowly pulled his face into a grimacing smile. "Oh, you mean those Winterhold soldiers we found lurking outside the fort? You should know that resources out here are scarce, and to keep someone alive is expensive. If you find an enemy, you kill them." There was silence while Rolf battled with himself. Rage tore at his face, and his entire body tensed, but he knew to lunge at Irontooth would mean his death.

"Your men are dead, Irontooth," said Korir, simply.

For the first time, the Orc showed doubt and confusion. "I don't believe you. You have a handful of men, and I have an entire garrison."

" _Had_ an entire garrison. We have three mages who wield extraordinary power. We turned brother on brother and made them rip each other apart," Korir said with ice in his eyes. He softened for a moment before continuing. "I'm not sure what you've heard, but you and your men are in danger. Skyrim and High Queen Elisif have turned on Winterhold, and very soon armies will be marching through this land. You think they won't take the opportunity to get their hands on a military fort? If you do not side with Winterhold, you will die."

"Why don't I side with Skyrim then? I'm sure I'd have a better chance of surviving." Two arrows landed at Irontooth's feet, mere inches away from plunging into them.

"Because then you'd be our enemy, and as you so eloquently put it, if you find an enemy, you kill them."

"I don't side with you then I die. Fine choice I have here. Korir, I hold no loyalty to you, but I got next to no men left. I make a move against you, arrows gonna be flying at my neck, that it?"

"Exactly right. You will be absorbed as part of Winterhold's armies. You will be given your own uniform, and you and your men shall be stationed here at Fort Fellhammer under the command of Captain Rolf. Is this clear?"

Irontooth gritted his teeth, his tusks clashing together. He still held his axe in his hands. His men behind him stood uncomfortably, their bodies poised for an attack, but their eyes darted at everyone and everything. Peric looked behind Irontooth, the focus of everyone's attention to see something he did not expect or want to see.

"Jarl Korir," Peric shouted from atop the wall. "Look at what's behind Irontooth." Korir stepped to the side to see what Peric was talking about and stood stock still. He couldn't speak or move, only stare.

"I see you've found the reason why we've stayed afloat out here," Ironooth said with a chuckle. Behind him stood two columns of Falmer bound in chains. In front of them stood a horse strapped to a small cart containing a single chest. They looked almost lifeless, not moving, not snarling as beasts should. They only wore dirty scraps of cloth that barely covered their milky white skin which blended in with the snow and ice. There was a reason why Falmer meant "Snow Elf". Their faces were cracked with lines of pain and anger. Their features were messily chiseled, and their noses were long key holes into their skulls. Their eyes were blotched and crumpled red craters.

"This is sickening," Korir spat at Irontooth.

"This is necessary," Irontooth snarled back. "There is an iron mine inside the fort, and we couldn't spare the men to get it running. That was until several months ago when these foul beasts raided the fort, but we managed to capture a good number of them alive, and we knew exactly what to do with them."

"Slavery is illegal under the laws of Winterhold."

"So was banditry last time I checked. Jarl Korir, it's only now that these laws apply. Besides, is it really slavery if they're not people? Look at them, they're beats! They're no better than dogs, and we treat them no better." Korir remained silent for several minutes. He started to pace up and down. Irontooth watched him intently, his head cocked slightly to the side.

"How many Falmer have you burnt your way through?" He asked suddenly.

Irontooth hesitated a moment before reply. "Dozens, countless dozens. We make forays into the wilds and always return with a new batch. There are more of them out there than you think."

"I want you to never use Falmer as beasts of burden again, you hear me? I will send workers from Winterhold to man the mines, as we could use that iron," Korir said in a commanding voice. He glanced over at the Falmer. "Kill them, they're dangerous and of no use to us now." Korir gave a stern look at Irontooth's bandits.

"Do it," Irontooth said, turning towards them. They drew their blades and headed towards the Falmer who screeched and cowered in fear.

"No!" Fornice shouted from the walls. She ran down the steps, her hair flying behind her. The bandits stopped their approach to turn to her. She ran through the gates, her robes billowing in the wind and stopped next to Korir and pleaded to him. "These Falmer were taken away from their homes and their family. They are in pain and underfed, and you want to kill them when they have done nothing to hurt us? Let them go, that's all I ask."

"Fornice, they're dangerous. They could attack us at any time," Korir said.

"So could Irontooth, but you seem to trust him ." She turned to the Orc. "No offence of course."

"None taken milady. I have to say, Jarl Korir, she does hold a good argument. You rant at me for abusing them, and yet you wanna kill them in cold blood. It just seems wrong to me."

"Say I do let them go, what happens when they slit our throats in our sleep?" said Korir with anger in his voice. Fornice didn't answer him. She was watching the Falmer who were still cowering and looking more pitiful than ever, all except for one. Its long, white hair that was matted with grease and dirt told Fornice it was a female, but she wasn't like the other Falmer. She made no sound, and she did not move. All she did was stand motionless, her head tilted towards Fornice, and her sightless eyes fixed upon her.

"They won't attack us," Fornice said in a whisper.

"Fine, let it be your funeral. I plan to leave here as soon as possible anyway. We need to get back to Winterhold and help prepare defenses." Korir turned to Irontooth. "Cut them loose." Irontooth pulled out a bunch of keys and threw them to one of his men. They set to work unfastening the shackles, albeit very cautiously.

"What are they doing?" asked Fornice after several minutes. The Falmer had all been set free, but they had neither run away nor attacked the group, but had simply retreated several feet and stopped. They now turned and faced the group whilst giving off an air of expectancy.

"They want what's in the chest," said Irontooth. He lifted the chest off the cart, grunting with the effort. He set it down some distance from the Falmer and opened it up. Out burst a brilliant blue light. Fornice ran up to see what it was, and was slightly surprised to see the chest filled with mushrooms. They glowed with an ethereal light and looked like something from another world.

"This is what they eat?" she asked while crouching down to examine them.

"They can't survive without them. It's how we got them to obey so easily." He smiled down at Fornice. "Come on, let them take it and then you can be on your way," he said leading her back to Korir. The Falmer instantly rushed to the chest, picked it up and disappeared into the distance.

"Rolf, keep this place running," Korir said. "Irontooth, do you have a smith?"

"Yeah, he's inside the Keep."

"Great, tell him to start making uniforms for all of you as well as weapons. We need to get back to the city."

* * *

It was night once more when they arrived back in Winterhold. Lights blazed in the windows of most houses, and the Jarl's Longhouse twinkled with stars. Everything seemed peaceful, as if there was no war at all. The icy road leading to the town, however, was not how it had been left. A ramshackle wooden wall had been built with a small gate where the road cut through it. Around the gate was an equally as tattered fortress complete with watchtower. Korir admired the work his people had put into defending the city, but he knew such a defence would not last long.

As they approached the gate, lanterns flared along the wall and across the fortress as men jumped to work. Within minutes they were surrounded by soldiers.

"My Jarl, we were starting to think you would not return," said one.

"Well, I obviously have. Now, stop wasting my time and let us through."

"Of course my Jarl." The group hurried through the now open gate and into the city proper. Though it was late, several people still scurried through the streets.

"Tolfdir, Peric. Let's head back to College. No doubt there's endless business I have to deal with after being away for so many days," said Fornice. She and the two others then scurried their way towards the bridge, and back to their home.


	8. Eight

Sunlight glistened on the trampled ice in the college courtyard. Many boots had turned the snow to frozen slush, and there had been relatively little snowfall in the past few days. The courtyard blazed with a winter dawn, and people had begun streaming from the Halls of Attainment and Countenance. Despite the impending war, lessons would begin soon, and lateness was still punishable. As always, the battlemages patrolled the walls and kept watch atop the towers. A new guard station had been set up on the small tower connecting the bridge with the city under command of the new thane. This post was to manned by both town guards and battlemages.

The Hall of the Elements bustled with people and their echoes. Several classes were dotted around the hall, each of them doing their best not to disturb the others. Peric leaned on the stone wall near the door to the Arch-Mage's Quarters, looking in at the lessons. He'd been excused from them for the next few days, but he was hoping to catch someone's attention.

Brelyna stood charge over a lesson of eighteen students, each of them looking up at her with respect. They all had the yellow sash of Alteration wrapped around their bodies and a shield spell in hand.

"It is a shield spell that will become your greatest ally in battle. Wards will protect you against spells, but a shield spell will turn away a sword, or if you're very talented, will stop an arrow dead in its tracks. We've spent several lessons on this, so at the end of today I want all of you to be able to cast a basic shield spell. Does everybody understand?" There was a general murmur of agreement amongst the students. "Excellent. I'll be going round..." Brelyna trailed off as she spotted Peric smiling at her from the gate. "I'll be going round to help, but please excuse me for a moment. I want you to begin." She walked through her students, who were beginning to cast their shield spells, to get to Peric. They were both smiling all the while.

"I'd heard the Arch-Mage had returned last night, but I hadn't heard news of you. I thought you might've been-"

"I hadn't." Peric cut her off with a stern look.

"I know. I just-I'm so happy to see you. Onmund and I have been worried sick, though I haven't spoken to him much. We've all been very busy here." She leaned in closer so that her students would not hear. "Faralda and I got a letter from the thane. Is it true we're at war?" Peric simply nodded in response. There was a silence between them for a few moments. "Well, we'll be ready. They've been constructing a wall in the town for a few days now, and they're beginning to conscript mages from the college into the army," said Brelyna.

"Is everyone having to fight?" Peric asked.

"Everyone that isn't needed elsewhere. Reports speak of Dawnstar and Windhelm already on the move, and an army from Solitude and Morthal are mustering to the West. We cannot repel all of Skyrim."

"We can try. Jarl Laila Law-Giver has yet to yield any soldiers to the Queen, and we're already setting up defences. We still have a couple of days before the armies arrive, and who knows what might happen before then," Peric said with a reassuring smile.

Brelyna did not smile back. "There's to be a war council in the Jarl's Longhouse this afternoon, and I've been asked to attend. Peric, I know nothing of war; no one from the College does. Winterhold's armies are nothing, and Jarl Korir seems to think college mages are fighters. Very few of us are, and I'm not sure he, nor Arch-Mage Fornice understands that."

"I understand that perfectly well," came a voice from the doorway behind them.

"Arch-Mage," both Peric and Brelyna said, somewhat taken aback. Each of them bowed their head in respect.

"I'll have none of that, thank you. Brelyna, you have been my equal for the past week, and Peric, we have fought side by side. I would have you use my name."

"As you wish, Fornice," Brelyna said.

"Now, equals as we are I cannot have you doubt my judgement. I know we are not warriors. This college was never built for war, however we are all good at what we do. Conjurationists can conjure deadly creatures. Destructionists can destroy most anything, and restorationists can heal almost any wound. Brelyna, I hope I don't have to prove the worth of Alteration to you, and Peric, well you've proven exactly how Illusion can help the war effort already. We will help the soldiers as much as we can, but none of you will be on the front line." Fornice ended with a brief smile at the two of them as they pondered what she said. Despite all that, she still knew the heat of war would be too much for some.

"Fornice," Brelyna said suddenly. "Where are you off to?"

"The war council, of course, and you should be heading there too."

* * *

"I'm telling you, Fornice, Fort Kastav is a crumbling ruin. My soldiers will be able to defend themselves much better in the pass."

" _Our_ soldiers, Korir, and they don't even have walls in the pass! All it has going for it is being a good choke point, and we both know that could go either way. You're willing to risk this entire war on a mile or two of barren earth and snow." Fornice had stood up at this stage, and she was gesturing wildly at Korir who sat on the opposite side of the long table that had been squeezed into the war room of the Longhouse.

"If they surround the fort, then it would fall within days. At the pass, Elisif's armies would have to cut their way through."

"Then send builders and architects to extend Fort Kastav's walls to stretch from one mountain to the other. It wouldn't take much work and would secure Winterhold's defence."

"We only have a few days. No masonry team can work that quickly."

"With the help of my mages they could. Brelyna, how many Alterationists would be up to the task?"

"Half a dozen specialise in Telekinesis. I could have them sent over on your command."

"Excellent. Does that settle it?" Fornice said, her head tilted towards Korir who remained silent for a few moments before leaning back in his chair.

"Yes. However, if the wall is not up by the time troops from Windhelm begin pushing into the hold, then we will stick with my plan."

"Agreed."

Fornice took her seat, very aware that the entire room had fallen very silent. Korir cleared his throat.

"As we all know,Winterhold has not had a stable economy since the Great Collapse. This needs to change if we are to stay independent from Skyrim. The options of lumber and farming are not viable due to the climate, and the southern holds already monopolise those industries. Our only real resource we have is iron. We have two mines in the hold; one called Whistling Mine, south of the city, and the other lies beneath Fort Fellhammer to the west. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

Sergius Turrianus stood up on his old legs and cleared his throat. "I have been the authority on Enchanting in the college for decades, and I can tell you there will always be a demand for enchanted weapons and armour. It has kept the college afloat for some time, and with the right resources that can extend to the rest of the hold," he said in a gruff, elderly voice.

"Thank you, Sergius," said Fornice kindly. "However, the resources needed to produce so many enchantments would be enormous. Though in the long run it might help us yes, the initial demand might cripple us."

"Not to mention we would be selling our enemy mass produced enchantments, something we cannot afford to do," piped in Kai.

"No, we need something much more manageable," said Korir. "However, would your students be able to enchant the weapons of Winterhold's armies?"

Sergius pondered for a moment in his seat. "If supplied with enough soul gems and a few extra arcane enchanters to boost production, then yes it should be doable."

"I shall have to keep that in mind. Now, does anyone have any other suggestions?"

There was silence around the table as each member thought of how their desolate home could ever gather any money.

Hoarik sat to the right of Brelyna, his mind firmly fixed outside of the hall. He stared at the wall, not listening to a word that was said. Brelyna knew he was a smart man, and maybe, just possibly he would have an idea. She gently nudged his elbow, making him shake his head and look over at her.

"Sorry, it's just I thought you might be able to help," she said.

"I heard what Jarl Korir said, and I believe it's hopeless," Hoarik said coldly. Brelyna was taken aback, and she only looked up at him, her brows furrowed.

"It's never hopeless," she said, before quickly rising to her feet. "Jarl Korir, I have an idea." Everyone at the table stared at her as her sudden burst of confidence faded away, and she began to falter. "I... er. I..." She nervously looked over at Tolfdir, who stared at her with a look of mild curiosity. Her eyes darted over to Fornice who softly smiled and nodded her head, which calmed Brelyna down somewhat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before proceeding. "Jarl Korir, my name is Brelyna Maryon, and I am head of Alteration at the College of Winterhold. How... um. How much do you know of my school?"

Jarl Korir smiled briefly, wrinkles creasing his face. "Not enough, Miss Maryon. Do enlighten me."

"Well, there is a spell in Alteration which allows a skilled mage to transmute iron to silver, and silver to gold. Yes, some of the iron is needed for weapons and armour, but we should take what is left and transmute it into more precious metals. We can then sell the ingots throughout Skyrim for less than the mines of Markarth could ever afford to charge. Regardless of any boycott of goods from Winterhold, people will still jump at the chance for cheap silver and gold."

Jarl Korir sat up in his chair staring intently at Brelyna. He furrowed his brow and rubbed his red beard in thought. Faralda opened her mouth to comment but then slowly shut it again. Hoarik stared intently at Brelyna with an impressed smile on his face, and Tolfdir was beaming with pride. Brelyna blushed a little and looked down at her hands. The other representatives from the college looked deep in thought, and Malur and Kai looked at their Jarl for a response.

"Miss Maryon," Korir finally said. "That doesn't sound like a half bad plan. How many mages do you have at hand which could transmute enough ore to make this viable."

Brelyna thought for several moments. "I have three students who could. Unless-" she quickly looked over at Fornice. "Unless I went to the mines and helped."

"No," Fornice said forcefully. "You are needed in the college, not in some hole in the ground."

Brelyna nodded in agreement with Fornice.

"Very well. Two of your students shall be sent to Fort Fellhammer, and one shall be sent to Whistling Mine. With a bit of luck and some hard work, we should be able to pump out twenty five pounds of gold a day, minus the iron ore needed for arms and armour. Thank you, Miss Maryon, you have been a great help to the cause." Korir gave, for the first time, a true smile to Brelyna. She gave a small smile back and took her place in her seat.

"Nice work, Brelyna," Hoarik whispered while gently nudging her. She looked up at his chiselled face and blue eyes, and she decided she was quite liking the meeting.

"Before moving on, I think it's important to note-" Korir was cut short by the door to the Longhouse being thrown open.

"I need to see Jarl Korir. Immediately," said a gruff, aged voice.

"Is it for the war effort?" said the heavily accented guard. By this point, Jarl Korir had left the armoury and was already in the main hall. He was greeted by an old man in a grey robe pushing the guard aside and marching towards Korir.

"Can I help you?" Korir said with ill disguised hostility.

"I'm here to help you, actually. You need to send your armies to the western fortresses at once. Jarl Skald has mustered his armies in Fort Dunstad, and he plan to attack any day."

"Old man, why should I believe you? Elisif herself could've sent you to deceive me."

"What spy would barge into a Jarl's Longhouse making demands? I am simply a wise old man trying to help. I suggest you listen to me."

The other members of the war council now filled the main hall, and Fornice walked over to Korir, her eyes firmly fixed on the stranger.

"Korir, that man is a Greybeard. I've seen his robes before."

Korir looked away from Fornice and back to the old man. "Is this true?"

The man bowed his head. "My name is Master Wunfarth. I've been released from my service as a Greybeard, and the rumour around Skyrim is that Winterhold needs help, so I suggest you listen to me."

Korir sighed and looked into Master Wunfarth's eyes. "Then we welcome you with open arms, and we gladly accept any wisdom you wish to impart onto us. Be at peace knowing we have already sent seven hundred soldiers to the western fortresses."

"So few? You will have a tough time defending Winterhold with that."

"It's all we could spare. They should reach them tomorrow morning. Five hundred to be stationed at Fort Fellhammer, and the others to be spread across Snowpoint Beacon, Driftshade Refuge and Frostflow Lighthouse. They should hold for a while."

"Jarl Korir, if Fort Fellhammer were to be taken, then the three fortresses to the east would fall within hours. Fellhammer is the only true defence, and it won't hold long while Fort Dunstad is still garrisoned. Dunstad needs to be taken."

"Believe me, Wunfarth, when I have the men available then I shall send them to take Dunstad, but Dunstad is a very large and very defensible fortress. It would take more than a thousand men to capture it."

"Where are your other soldiers?" Wunfarth demanded, becoming increasingly more panicked.

"They are mustering to garrison Fort Kastav in the south. A combined force from Windhelm, Solitude and Morthal is set to attack Kastav any day now, and we need to be prepared."

"I agree, Korir, but we'll need to use those mages of yours. All of them."

* * *

Peric sat at his desk, staring at a piece of parchment with only a few scribbles on. To entertain himself, he decided to try writing another thesis on Illusion, but his mind could conjure no topics. The theories of invisibility and fear spells had been covered countless times, and something told him calm spells would not be much different. Giving up, he pushed himself away from his desk and went to hunt for something to eat.

The Hall of Attainment was quiet at this time of night. Most people had gone to bed. With nothing to do during the day, Peric found he had much to do during the night.

His bare feet slapped against the cold stone steps leading up to the dining room. He found it almost eerie how quiet it was, but he knew people were only a few feet away from him, even if they were sleeping. Pale blue light shone through the windows of the hall, and a richer blue light came from the spiral of Magicka that twisted through all the levels of the Hall of Attainment. It let out a faint hum of energy that Peric usually found relaxing, but at that moment it only added to the eerie feel of the hall.

Climbing up several flights of stairs, Peric passed countless rooms leading off of several floors. All students at the College of Winterhold were housed in the Hall of Attainment, so the conditions were rather cramped, however everyone got their space, so there was little need for arguments.

Peric reached the third floor which was dominated by the large dining room. It contained every food he could possibly want. A wooden table in the centre held meats, fruits and cheeses, but the real prize was on a table to the right. On it was piled sweetrolls, fruit pies and taffy treats. There was more than Peric could carry, so he simply grabbed as much he could.

With his arms full of sweetrolls and any other treats he could find, including a large apple pie, Peric quietly slipped back downstairs and into his room. He dropped his feast onto a table, sat down on his bed, and began biting into one of the honey covered sweetrolls.

"Care if I join you?" asked a cheery voice from the doorway. Peric jumped and wheeled around to see Onmund smiling there. Peric's mouth was full of sweetroll, and he was finding it hard to make any noise of consent, but Onmund simply walked in, grabbed a long roll of taffy, and sat next to Peric on his bed. Despite his constant cheery mood, Onmund had an intimidating air about him. He had a command of every situation, so even though they'd been friends for years, Peric found Onmund's intrusion somewhat unnerving.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd got back?" Onmund said quickly, not wanting any silence to span out.

"I've been pretty exhausted, Onmund. I was planning on finding you in the morning."

"Oh, really? I've been in torment these past few days, not knowing if you were dead or alive, and then I hear The Jarl and Fornice have returned bearing news of war, and you know what? Not a mention, not a whisper of you. At this point I begin to panic, so I search for Brelyna to see what she knows, and do you know what I find out? That you and her had a fine little chat. Do you seriously not care enough to even let me know you're alive?" Onmund stared right into Peric's eyes, his jaw clenched as well as his fists. Peric tried to meet his eye, but after a few moments shut them and let out a deep breath.

"Of course I care. I just... I forgot about you." Peric opened his eyes and looked up at Onmund's face. His cheeks weren't so rosy any more, and his blue eyes weren't so bright. "I'm sorry. I have seen and done so much, and so much is about to happen that..." a painful lump began to form in Peric's throat. "You remember all the times we stayed up and laughed at everything and nothing? Well, with all this talk of hatred and war, they were drowned out. Forgotten." Onmund stared back down at Peric before lying back onto the bed, his eyes closed.

"With all this talk of hatred and war, maybe it's exactly what we need," he whispered.

* * *

Fornice threw the doors to her quarters open and stormed over to the large table in one corner. The other faculty members followed close behind. Phinis Gestor, head of Conjuration, grabbed a bottle of wine from a shelf and poured a generous cup of it. The middle-aged Breton's constant dark eyes looked even more tired than usual. He downed the cup in one and poured himself another as he absent mindedly stroked his thinning hair.

Colette grabbed the bottle from Phinis' hands and was about to place it back on the shelf, but changed her mind and quickly poured herself a dainty glass full.

Several minutes passed while the college leaders scattered themselves around the Arch-Mages quarters sipping drinks of various strengths. Urag gro-Shub, proprietor of the Arcanaeum, the college's library and research centre, sat himself on a chair near a small table and downed a bottle of ale before uncorking another, but took his time with the second. Sergius carefully placed himself next to Urag. He leant back and closed his eyes, folding his hands in his lap. To most it would look as if he were sleeping, but those gathered knew he was deep in thought. Tolfdir and Colette sat side by side atop Fornice's writing desk, sipping small glasses of wine. Faralda and Fornice shared generous portions from one of the finer wines imported from Cyrodiil whilst sitting at Fornice's dining table, and Brelyna and Drevis Neloran took only small sips from bottles of Black-Briar mead. They were perched at the opposite end of the table to Fornice and Faralda. Phinis paced around the room, a cup in one hand and a wine bottle in another.

"I... I never thought he would demand so much of us," Fornice finally whispered from her corner, breaking the silence that lasted a ten minutes.

"Us?" called Phinis from across the room. "You and me, aye, but Miss Prissy Destruction and Mister Illusion over there don't give nothing." He stormed towards Fornice and Faralda. The High Elf stood up and placed herself firmly between Phinis and the Arch-Mage. Despite being a woman, she was half a head taller than Phinis, and twice as intimidating.

"We all have to make sacrifices, Phinis. My students are right behind yours, don't forget, and Drevis is losing his best students too."

"They're not being put on the front line." Silence racked the room once more. What Phinis said was the truth, and they all knew it. Jarl Korir had demanded that the Conjuration students be placed in front of Fort Kastav with two battalions of soldiers so that their conjured creatures and reanimated corpses could increase the size of the fighting force. Despite Phinis' protests, Korir would not back down. They all knew that if the soldiers cut through the zombies and atronachs, then the Conjurationists would be defenceless.

"Phinis, we know you're having to give up much, but we have no other choice," Faralda said gently. Phinis walked slowly to the side and stared at Fornice. Fornice could barely meet his eye.

"Fornice, you are an equal to Jarl Korir. You could have stopped this."

"And where would you have your students go?" Fornice suddenly flared up. "They can't go inside Fort Kastav, or else their summons would never reach the soldiers. I know it is dangerous for them, and none of us like it, but there is no alternative." Fornice was trying to reason with him, trying to make him see what was happening, but all Phinis could do was clench his fists and stare at her with tired eyes and a tired soul. "We cannot move your students." Phinis finally gave into his emotion and slumped into a chair, dark and downcast. "However, I do not believe they should be undefended. Korir has posted a battalion to either side of the conjurationists, but that really does them no good, therefore I shall post a small group of battlemages along with a handful of Faralda's students amongst yours, so if the soldiers do break through, then they have a fighting chance. At the very least it buys them enough time to get inside the fort."

Phinis looked up, creases lining his forehead. "I still don't like it. There will still be casualties, many causalities."

"But there will be less. I'm sorry, Phinis, but that is all I can do."

"I know, Fornice, I know. I just need some time to adjust. I'm going to have to address my students tomorrow, aren't I?"

Fornice sighed. "I'm afraid so."

"Then I'll need time to prepare, to say my goodbyes," Phinis said quietly. He put down his cup of wine on the table and hurried from the room. Most people saw Phinis as a hard edged man, his only loyalties being to magic, but everyone in that room saw the truth to Phinis, and none of them had ever felt so low.

* * *

Onmund bellowed with laughter before quickly stifling it with a giggle so as not to wake the other members of the Hall of Attainment. "I can't believe we ever did that!"

"Do you remember the look on Brelyna's face? She was furious we'd even thought of filling her socks with beans." They both collapsed into fits of laughter. Peric hid his face in a blanket in an attempt to stop the giggles. They were both sitting cross-legged on Peric's bed, wrapped up in wolf skin blankets to keep out the cold.

Their laughter slowly faded to gleeful smiles, and the room was filled with an unfamiliar quiet.

"Do you think we'll make it through this?" Onmund said quietly, his smile slowly fading away. Peric continued to stare into his eyes, not faltering for a moment.

"Yes, yes I do. Many people won't, and many lives will be lost. Winterhold may burn, but we'll make it through; the City of Winterhold and the College of Winterhold always have. We will always rebuild."

Onmund remained quiet for a moment. "Do you think we'll make it through this alive?"

"I... don't know. I hope so, but this is our home, and if I must die defending it, then that is what I shall do."

"I would rather die than have to watch you be killed."

"Onmund, don't-"

"I mean it. I couldn't bear it. To see a sword or arrow just take you, it would-"

"Stop it! Just shut up, Onmund. I don't ever want you to say you want to die, under any context, or any circumstances."

Why not? If it's the truth, why can't I say it?"

"Because if I saw you killed, I know I could keep going. You are one of the very best people I know, but it scares me that I mean that much to you. I feel guilty that I don't feel the same."

Onmund wiped a tear away from his eye and looked at the floor. His breathing was rapid, and his shoulders shook.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just don't ever want it to happen." He suddenly sat up, wiped his eyes and forced a smile. "But I better be off to bed. I have lessons in the morning, and Phinis says he'll fill us conjurers in on everything he knows about the war." Before Peric could say anything, Onmund had left his room.

* * *

Dusty light seeped into the Jarl's Longhouse. It reflected of the haze of smoke that filled the room, and if it wasn't for the crackling fire in the centre, then the Longhouse would be as dreary as the tomb. A snowstorm raged on outside, but Winterhold's Court remained warm and safe surrounded by the woody smoke.

Jarl Korir looked down at the Helm of Winterhold clutched in his hands. The burnished steel shone red in the firelight, and the intricate silver engravings of forgotten forests and hunts gleamed with the past. Reflected in the helm, Korir saw Jarl Hanse of the First Era, forger of the Helm of Winterhold, stand bold in great victory and defeat in the name of Winterhold during the bloody War of Succession. That was the last time Skyrim had turned against Winterhold, and four thousand years later it was to happen again, but this time King Olaf was not going to capture a dragon and end the war. No, this time Winterhold would be destroyed, and in the glow of the fire on the Helm of Winterhold, the ancient symbol of the hold and all its histories and victories, Korir saw his city burn while he lay bleeding in the snow.

"My Jarl, shall we move onto the last issue o' business?" Malur asked from beside Korir's throne. Korir looked at his steward with dark eyes.

"Proceed."

"My Jarl, there have been reports o' strange shadows in the ci'y. People be blamin' the mages, bu' there's no proof to tha'."

"Tell them that the City Guard will investigate. Of course, we cannot spare the soldiers to chase after shadows, but make sure the citizens feel safe. I'm sure these shadows are nothing."

"Of course, my Jarl. Tha' is all for today."

At that moment, Hoarik Forge-Blazer strolled into the Longhouse, donned in full armour and wielding a polished steel sword.

"Not quite, Malur. My Jarl, the army is ready to march to Fort Kastav. We only await your order."

"How many were you able to muster?"

"Nine hundred, as well as the college mages. I took the liberty of preparing a small force to stay in Winterhold to keep order."

"That's not enough to last a siege. Windhelm is being emptied as we speak, and Solitude is sending twice that number at least. With Divine's blessing and those mages of ours, we might last several weeks, but what happens when Markarth or Whiterun join the fight?" Korir was only answered with silence. "We die. That's what happens, but send the army. Get them as prepare as possible, but we need more soldiers."

"Yes, my Jarl," Hoarik said. He bowed and marched out of the Longhouse.

Korir looked back down at the helm still in his hands. "Well, Hanse, it's begun."


	9. Nine

"Quickly, boy, light the beacon!" barked the new captain from atop Snowpoint. The young lad on duty rushed to the pile of dry timber, torch in hand. He quickly splashed oil onto the wood, and threw the torch on top. Instantly, the wood sparked to life with a dirty flame which engulfed the timber. The captain watched anxiously as the choking black smoke swam towards the clouds, dark fingers coiling out to grab at the air.

A minute later, in the far distance, a small yellow flame appeared. The garrison at Frostflow Lighthouse had seen the flame. This was closely followed by the watch at Driftshade Refuge and finally Fort Fellhammer.

The garrison at Snowpoint could see for miles into the Pale. It seemed to them that the entire Hold was an everlasting pine forest, dusted with snow. On the horizon to the north lay a thin line of the glittering sea, and to the west snaked the road to Dawnstar, winding like a river in the forest. It was upon this road that the great lumber gates of Fort Dunstad opened, and column upon column of Pale soldiers began to spill out. It was the garrison at Snowpoint's job to watch for this moment, and they were ready when it came.

* * *

The soldiers at Fort Fellhammer lined the walls, bows in hand. In the distance they could hear the trudge of hundreds of boots marching on freshly fallen snow. Though a ring of trees had been cleared around the fort, the pine forest still stood tall and strong some distance away, and it was this same forest that hid their enemy from them. To the east, the soldiers could see Snowpoint Beacon towering up from the cliff face. A single narrow path cut its way through the tress and rock to connect the fort and the beacon, which itself guarded one of the few routes through the mountains into Winterhold.

In the courtyard, shadowed by the twenty foot walls, healers ran about gathering supplies, and workers rushed to get back into the keep or the mines. Despite being under attack, the mines were to remain operational. The smell of metal and magic wafted up into the open air. The worn door to the mines rested under the towering keep. It rose above the walls on three tiers, coming to a rest just above the tree line. The keep housed the storage rooms, kitchens, barracks, and at the very top sat the commanders office. Upon the roof several mages skilled at long range assault kept watch, ready to launch an array of spells.

Workers desperately tried to put last minute supports on the wooden gate that was straddled by the south wall. The eastern gate had been blocked up by by rock and rubble, so the soldiers would only have to focus on one defence point.

Irontooth pulled on his iron helmet and adjusted the straps on his uniform. He was in charge of the soldiers along the western wall, the main fighting force against the Pale soldiers. He decided that he did not mind being a part of Winterhold. He realised that it wasn't the power or the money he got from banditry that made him enjoy it so much, but the sheer thrill of battle, and being a soldier gave him plenty of that.

He marched along the wall, inspecting each and every soldier to make sure their idiot brains hadn't forgotten anything in the spur of the moment. He demanded to see their equipment, and suffice to say if a soldier had forgotten their sword, then they never would again after Irontooth showed them what intimidation really meant.

Every few yards, he came across a mage with various spells in their hands, and various colours of robes. He noticed they stood out too much from the soldiers, and they would be glowing targets for enemy archers.

"Girl, what is your school?" Irontooth asked a young mage in blue robes.

"Destruction, sir," she said with a salute, looking across the wall, keeping in the uniform line of the other soldiers.

"Why did a small little thing like you choose a school like Destruction?"

"If I can't beat things with my fists, I'll do it with magic, sir," she said with a blank face.

"And how do you intend to kill the men coming to kill you?"

"With ice and fire, sir."

"Yes, but what about when you watch a man die because of you? What happens when you see the blood pool from a man with your ice spike in his chest?"

"Then I will kill the next man with fire." The girl turned to look up at Irontooth for the first time, and though the Orc was not frightened or intimidated, any lesser man would be.

"Let us hope you're not all bark," Irontooth said with more force than he intended. He was impressed at what the college had sent him, but they were yet to be proven in real battle. He continued his inspection, stopping every now and again to inspect one of the mages, and each time he found they were all willing to fight their hardest.

The tramp of feet was becoming louder and more intense by the minute. Each man and woman strained their eyes for even a glimpse of the army, but the trees blocked all sight. The fire atop Snowpoint Beacon continued to burn bright, and the soldiers at Fellhammer could see men scrambling on top of the tower, preparing themselves in case the battle at Fellhammer should go ill.

"Captain Rolf, should we ask for reinforcements from the other fortresses?" asked Irontooth as he descended into the courtyard where Rolf stood clad in thick steel armour, and he wielded a shield of Winterhold.

"No, Irontooth. If we should fall here, then they'll be needed there. If needs be, we can call on some of the garrison at Snowpoint, but only as a last resort."

"Yes, sir. The garrison on the west wall is as ready as they're ever gonna be, sir."

"Good. It's up to you to keep them focused on the west wall. If the gate on the south wall is breached then it's all over."

"Yes, sir. Captain, they cannot be more than a minute from the tree line."

"I know." Rolf turned to the men on the walls. "Ready your weapons!" he shouted. He drew his sword and ran up the stone steps, up the makeshift wooden walkway, and onto the roof of the keep. Every soldier on the fort looked up at him, shielding their eyes from the sun. To them, Rolf was simply a glowing silhouette.

"Soldiers of Winterhold. Men and women of the ice. Here we stand on the border of our little scrap of the north, listening to the thud of our doom approaching. We stand here with racing hearts and worried minds. We fear for our lives and the lives of our loved ones. We wish for a warm hearth and warm mead, but all we have is a cold fort and a cold doom, but trust in your sword. Trust in your bow, and," Rolf paused for a moment, scanning over the hundreds of soldiers and mages, all looking at him with raised arms to shield their eyes. He mused that they all looked like they were saluting him. _Just like a proper army, but they're not. Only half of these people are soldiers. The others just want to help. They'll be the ones that die first, and those mages don't even have armour, just their robes and their magic. They're not useless, far from it, but they're no good to us dead. I hope they have some sense._ "And trust in your spells. Do this, and you'll make it through. Cut down anyone before they cut you down, and you'll make it through. Look them in the eye, and know that it's for Winterhold what you do. You will stand in the middle of a battlefield, covered in blood and snow, and you will know what you do is for Winterhold, for your warm hearths, warm mead and warm wives." Rolf paused once more and looked down at his army. _Goodbye._

The Pale soldiers pushed through the tree line. Row upon row of grey and white clad Nords, marching towards them, a sea of enemies. Their helmets and chain mail glinted in the sun like light on the sea. Irontooth counted eight or nine hundred soldiers as they began to break their ordered formation and rush at the fort. A wave upon the shore.

"For Winterhold!" Rolf shouted, and the deafening cheer he got back chilled his heart.

* * *

The messenger stood timidly in front of Jarl Korir, waiting for him to look up from his parchment. The young girl shuffled about nervously from one foot to another. She looked down at the floor until Korir cleared his throat and looked up at her.

"Well?" he asked, clearly impatient.

"My Jarl, I have a letter for you," she stammered.

"Well, hand it over then," he barked. The girl jumped and hastily reached into her satchel and pulled out a small piece of folded paper and handed it to Korir. He snatched it out of her hand, tossed her a Septim, and carefully opened the letter.

_Jarl Korir.  
The higher powers at be have commanded that I offer you my full aid. Let me tell you there is nothing I'd like to do less than get involved in your war. It is not my place. Even getting this letter to you cost more coin and was at a higher risk than I like, but orders are orders. So if you want anything at all, then talk to Enthir at that college of yours, and he'll be able to get whatever you need. Believe me, if it exists, we can get hold of it.  
Signed: Delvin Mallory. Thieves Guild of Riften._

"Girl!" Korir called just as the messenger was opening the door. "Who gave this to you?"

"A hooded man at the edge of town. He never said his name."

Korir nodded and looked back down at the note.

* * *

"Archers!" screaming Irontooth from atop the west well. Hundreds of arrows flew over his head, some whisking past mere inches from him. Soldiers up and down the rows of the charging army fell down, only to be trampled by their brothers and sisters in arms.

"Mages!" he shouted, and a hail of ice, fire and lightning shot through the air, charging it with crackling flames and blue static. Many soldiers fell down in convulsions or with spears of ice through them. Several of them burst into flames and ran screaming before falling motionless in the snow.

Yet there were still hundreds more to come. In the middle of the horde, sat atop a grey horse, was a large, heavy set Nord with a shaven head and a blonde grizzled beard. He had an ugly pink scar that cut down along his left cheek. He waved his axe towards the fort, barking orders for his soldiers to keep up the attack.

"Again!" shouted Irontooth, and once more a volley of arrows and spells flew past him. His bristled black hair stood on end with the electricity in the air. Even more men fell just as they broke against the thick stone walls of the fort. On the south wall, a similar scene was playing out. Rolf's archers and mages cut down soldier after soldier, but they kept on coming.

To the south-west, a legion of archers gathered themselves upon a rocky bluff. Irontooth caught sight of them from atop the wall and watched them knock arrows into their bowstrings.

"Shields up! Shields up!" he roared at the top of his lungs, running up his row of men. Many of them did not react instantly. "Shields up I said! Do you wanna get hit?" he shouted again, and the soldiers and mages scrambled for the round wooden shields that were lying down or resting against the balustrade. Some managed to only hoist their shields up just as the arrows came down on them. Others weren't so quick. Screams rang out along the walls as arrows pierced armour and flesh. Healers hurried along the walls, casting spells and mixing potions as fast as they could. Irontooth knelt down next to a young Breton mage with an arrow through her throat. An old healer tried to coax the arrow out with the aid of a healing spell, but the girl coughed up a lung full of blood and collapsed onto the cold stone. Her and the rest of the dead were left to lie where they fell as more and more soldiers broke against the wall, and more and more arrows struck.

"Archers, kill as many men on the ground as you can. Mages, take down those archers!" shouted Irontooth, running the length of the wall. A quick glance to his left showed him that the south wall had also taken heavy losses, and the soldiers were beginning to target the gate.

The Pale archers were still reloading for their third volley when they began to get hit. Mages up and down both walls, as well as on vantage points atop the keep, launched spell after spell at them. Panic began to spread among the archers as the soldiers to their left and right were cut to the ground by lightning, fire and ice. Some of them regained enough composure to fire more arrows at the fort, taking down careless soldiers who had left themselves exposed.

Two Illusion mages climbed the last few steps that led to the roof of the keep. One Nord man aimed a shrieking red tangle of energy carefully before letting it fire towards the archers. It struck their right flank with great effect as many of them threw their weapons to the ground and ran screaming from the battlefield. An Altmer woman threw several frenzy spells at the archers, and she winced as she watched friend and family cut each other to pieces in a blood lust. Within a couple of minutes, the spell had worn off, but only a handful of archers remained. Their commander had been cut down by and ice spike, his body sprawled out on the rocks. The archers that remained drew swords and ran for the safety of the army.

* * *

"Onmund, you can't be put on the front line. You don't even know how to fight!" Peric said. He knew Onmund was under oath and order to fight, but he couldn't bear the thought of him leaving for a battlefield.

"Peric, you know it's what I have to do. They need every conjurer down in Fort Kastav." Onmund had sorrow plastered across his face, and his eyes began to water. Brelyna stood silently at the door to Onmund's room. She knew nothing even she said or did could make him stay.

"Brelyna, override Phinis' order. Make it so that Onmund won't have to fight," Peric pleaded.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. I wouldn't want Onmund here while his friends died miles away. Peric, you'll be sent out soon, and I pray to Azura that Onmund is still alive when you get there."

Onmund stood blankly, looking at the floor. He held a Destruction staff in one hand and his other was clenched into a fist. "I have to go, Peric," he said quietly and determinedly. "It's what I must do."

Peric was about to retort, but at that moment the doors to the Hall of Attainment were thrown open, and Brelyna jumped as they crashed against the stone wall. Jarl Korir marched into the centre of the hall, his face red raw with cold, and his hair and fur cloak was dusted with snow. Next to him marched Kai, his blonde hair swept across his face. Behind him jogged Fornice with her brows furrowed in concern.

"Where is he, Fornice?" Korir demanded, turning to face her.

"I've already told you, I don't know!" she said back, annoyance in her voice. "This is where he lives, but he could be anywhere." She narrowed her eyes and took a step toward Korir. "It's not like you to enter the college, Korir. In fact, I can't remember you stepping a single foot onto our grounds. What is this about?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Enthir! Enthir!" Korir shouted, his voice ringing throughout the entire hall. After several moments, a short Bosmer man with dark skin and and reddish-brown eyes slowly made his way down the stairs. He took every step as if it were everyone else's sole purpose to wait for him. He reached the bottom and stopped for a moment before bending his body into an exaggerated bow.

"My Jarl," he drawled. His voice was deep and smooth, ready to con you of every Septim. It held thousands of hidden motives, and so did his sly eyes.

"Explain this letter to me. Now," Korir demanded, extending the letter towards him. Enthir slowly reached out and took the letter. Even when he carefully unfolded the letter, taking more time than he needed, he didn't look away from Korir's eyes.

He only took a few moments to read the letter, in which the room was dead silent. Brelyna and Onmund exchanged glances, and Peric shot a questioning look at Fornice who only shrugged. By now, several mages had gathered in doorways to see what was going on, and Korir stared intently at Enthir.

"Well, I think this explains it quite clearly," Enthir said, handing the letter back.

"What I want to know is why the Thieves Guild have operatives in my city. Did you know about this, Fornice?"

"To an extent, yes. He is an invaluable source of rare and lucrative materials, but I always thought it best to not question his sources, though there were only a few organisations who could get hold of such items."

"So you've had dealings with the Thieves Guild too?" Korir asked, his anger turning into shock.

"I guess I have, indirectly, but it was never intentional." Fornice responded.

"But where else were we to get deathbell or Daedra hearts? Not to mention black soul gems," piped in Brelyna. The onlooking mages all nodded in agreement.

"Korir, what did the letter say?" asked Fornice.

"It said that the Thieves Guild offers their aid by order of a 'higher power'. It was signed by a Delvin Mallory," said Korir.

"Well the only higher powers above Delvin would be Brynjolf or Maven Black-Briar, but I see no reason why they'd help us," said Enthir.

"Maven Black-Briar..." Fornice said thoughtfully. "That witch of a woman who owns the meadery?" asked Fornice.

Enthir laughed out loud. "So you've met her, then?

"Once or twice. I've had several dealings in Riften during my time as Arch-Mage."

"Then you know she isn't one to hand out resources so freely, especially at the risk to her if she were caught."

"Unless there's a power above Maven," said Peric, walking out from Onmund's room. "Enthir, how much power does Jarl Laila have over Maven?"

"Well, it is true that Laila has wrested some measure of power back off of the Black-Briar family since she was reinstated as Jarl, so it's possible she has several things to hang over Maven's head now."

"And she was sympathetic to us at The Moot," said Korir.

"Yes, Laila has been clever enough to make the letter untraceable back to her. She's the only logical person who it could be," said Fornice. "See, Korir, maybe we do have more allies than we think. If Laila wants us to use the Thieves Guild, then that is what we should do."

"Korir stood in thought as he reread the letter several times. He looked up at Enthir and stared into the Bosmer's unwavering eyes. "Enthir, tell your friends to send everything they can spare; supplies, potions, weapons." He was silent for a few moments while he thought over a plan. "And tell them to send every thief they can, and tell them they will be well paid. Any thief looking to make some coin is welcome."

"Jarl Korir, what else is a thief looking for?" Enthir laughed. Korir stared at Enthir with no humour on his face. "I'll get right too it," the Elf said and hurried back up the stairs. Korir nodded to those present in the room. He shot a friendly smile at Peric who hesitantly returned it back. Korir and Kai quickly left the hall, and Fornice turned to Brelyna.

"Brelyna, if you don't mind I need to discuss how we are to use your remaining students." Brelyna quickly apologised to Onmund and Peric. She walked over to Fornice, and the two women slowly made their way to the Hall of the Elements.

Peric walked over to the chair in the corner and lowered himself into it, staring intently at Onmund with deep brown eyes. Onmund had his back to him, busy putting things back in draws and cupboards. The bare essentials that he'd need for his journey and deployment lay neatly on his bed. The only noise in the room was Onmund putting his belongings away. The dull thunk of him closing draws echoed around Peric's mind. Onmund stood up straight and looked at the grey stone wall.

"You won't convince me to forsake my duty-"

"I wasn't going to try. Not any more," Peric said softly. He stood up and walked over to the bed and picked up a silver amulet with a small, gleaming sapphire in the centre. An island in a rough sea of spirals and patterns. Peric felt much the same.

"My brother gave it to me when I left Solitude," Onmund said, looking at Peric from the other side of the bed. "He was the only one who wanted me to just be happy, but my father insisted I be cut from the family, and the rest agreed with him. They thought to learn magic was to be weak, and that I would bring shame upon them, but I didn't care. I packed what things I had left, and I made my way to Winterhold. This is all I have left of them."

"What about your aunt in Morthal?"

"She doesn't count as one of them. Like me, she split away a long time ago." Onmund reached out his hand, and Peric delicately placed the amulet in it. "You know, I sold it to Enthir once. I thought I didn't need the memory of them any more." He looked down at the amulet and ran his thumb over its surface. "I was wrong," he said forcefully and quickly tucked it away and turned back away from Peric. He picked up several books off a table.

"Onmund, what you said to me last night wasn't fair."

"No, Peric, what you said to me wasn't fair," Onmund said wheeling around, and slamming the books back down. "I told you that I couldn't bear to lose you, and you threw it right back in my face."

"That is not true! You were being dramatic and said you would rather die. You cannot fault me for not feeling the same. You are my closest friend, and I care about you a lot, and I would mourn your loss more than any others." He paused, looking for words. "You... You mean a lot to me."

Onmund took a step closer to Peric, his head pointing to his feet. "I'm going to war, Peric."

"I know."

"I only have a memory left of the family I won't be seeing again," he said as he hesitantly shuffled forward. "I might not see you again."

"I know."

"I want something to remember you by too." Onmund grabbed Peric and kissed him deeply, holding his body close to his own. Peric did not respond, and Onmund took it as a sign to push further, his lips parting slightly.

Peric broke away from Onmund and stared at him, earthy brown eyes meeting sea blue. "Goodbye, Onmund," he said.

"I..." Onmund started, but Peric had already left the room.

* * *

"Hold the gate! Don't let a single soldier through!" roared Rolf as the battering ram slammed into the wooden gate for the second time. Winterhold soldiers threw themselves at the gate to give it extra support, but they weren't going to hold for long. Rolf had no idea what had happened. One moment, the Winterhold soldiers were doing well. The archers were aiming true, and the mages cut down soldier after soldier, but the next moment a battering ram had appeared out of nowhere, and now the gate was at breaking point. Most of the Pale soldiers were now clustered at the south wall with swords drawn and shields raised, ready to rush into the courtyard as soon as the gate was broken.

"Irontooth!" Rolf called across the noise of the courtyard. The sturdy Orc turned to look down at him from his position on the west wall where his archers and mages still fired down on the Pale soldiers. "Get half your archers and all your mages onto the south wall. They need to take down as many soldiers as they can before the gate is breached."

Irontooth nodded in response and turned back towards his soldiers. Rolf couldn't hear what Irontooth was saying, but several moments later most of the army on the west wall ran along it to join Rolf's own soldiers. As they ran, several mages took the opportunity to down any Magicka potions they had on them. The fighting had been heavy so far, and many of them only had a few spells left in them.

The battering ram slammed forward again, and this time the wood began to crack and splinter. Rolf himself rushed forward to help his soldiers hold the gate. "Mages, take out the battering ram!" he called up to those on the wall. Each of the mages aimed down at the ram, but all they could see were a mass of shields emblazoned with the black fortress symbol of the Pale, a grey diamond at its centre. The mages threw everything they could at the men carrying the shields, but they were tired an weak, and the shields were too strong. Ice only dented them, lightning could not pass through the wood, and though the flames scorched the shields, they weren't intense enough to burn them away.

"Captain, it's not working. They're gonna break through!" shouted a heavy built Nord mage. He was one of the higher regarded mages in Destruction, and even his spells were beginning to falter.

"Keep at it," Rolf replied, but as he said it, the iron supports on the gate began to bend as the battering ram kept up its attack, and he knew they didn't have enough time. He pulled away from the gate, beckoning for two more men to take his place. Irontooth climbed down the stairs and stood next to Rolf, preparing himself for the breach of the gates.

"There's at least two of them to every one of us, most likely more," Irontooth said as he watched the soldiers recoil from a blow to the gate.

"We were never going to win this. We knew that from the start."

"I still thought we'd last longer than a couple of hours. We could still signal for Snowpoint to come to our aid."

"There's not enough of them. If they stepped anywhere near the army, they'd be cut down instantly. No, we will fight this alone," said Rolf determinedly. The gate gave a mighty groan as several metal struts bent inwards. The wood began to crack, and several planks split right open.

"Only a few more good hits," said Irontooth.

Just then, the door to the mines were thrown open and out ran two dirt covered mages. Both Rolf and Irontooth looked at the Redguard woman and Dunmer man that now marched their way across the courtyard.

"Aren't they the Alterationists from the mines?" asked Irontooth.

"Yes, but I guess what's the point in hem staying there if the fort is about to fall?"

"Out of my way. Out of my way!" the Redguard woman shouted at any soldiers in her path.

"Excuse me-"

"I said out of my way," shouted the Redguard woman again, shoving Rolf aside. He could see though that it was not just dirt that covered them, but metal as well. Streaks of iron and silver covered the Dunmer man's hands and robes, and gold dust caked the Redguard, her dreadlocks matted with it, and a streak of gold ran from her temple to her chin. The two mages both began to shove soldiers away from the gate, trying to get a clear path to it.

"Let them through," barked Rolf. One by one, the soldiers peeled away until it was just the two mages standing there.

"Now for the hard part," growled the Dunmer as he rolled up his sleeves and narrowed his deep set red eyes. In unison, they both cast a transparent green light at the centre of the gate. It shimmered and shook, flashes of white flying off of it like an overfed forge. It quickly spread out to encompass the whole gate. A loud thud could be heard as the ram collided with the gate, but it was accompanied by the sound of splintering wood and deep shouts of pain and confusion. Two solid objects could be heard hitting the snow. The gate remained unchanged.

"What did you do?" asked Rolf as he turned to the Dunmer.

"By the sounds of it, we broke the ram. While that shield is up, nothing is getting through that gate." As the Dunmer was talking, the Redguard held up her hands and cast another shard of light at it, keeping it strong.

"How long can you hold it?" asked Irontooth.

"With enough food, warmth and Magicka potions, quite a long time," she said.

"You'll be needed back in the mines at some point," said Rolf.

"Well then, you better get cracking with our guests," she said nodding her head towards the gate where the soldiers could be heard moving away. "As long as they're still out there, we're not going back into those damned tunnels." Rolf nodded at the two of them and turned to face the soldiers that had gathered around him. Most of them now congregated in the courtyard, whilst some still lined the walls, bows and spells in hand.

"Back to the walls with you! There's still an army out there, and they're not gonna give up that easily." The soldiers scrambled to retrieve their bows from their backs or from the racks that lined the courtyard. Rolf walked up to a young healer who hurried her way across the courtyard.

"I need you to mix as many Magicka potions as you can. The others can take care of the wounded, but we need those potions."

The small Imperial girl bobbed her blonde curls. "Yes, Captain," she said. She hitched up her blue robe and marched to the small canvas tent in a corner of the courtyard, set aside for healers.

Rolf looked up at Irontooth on his wall, already barking orders and pointing out targets. Rolf ran up to his own soldiers above the gate and looked down at the field below.

The Pale commander had dismounted from his horse and now ordered several battalions to draw bows, while the others lifted their shields to protect themselves from the volley of fire still coming from the walls. The archers fired upon the fort, but this time, the Winterhold soldiers were prepared. Each of them had a shield at the ready, and only a handful of careless soldiers got struck. Winterhold responded in turn with an arrow volley of their own, striking several archers who remained unprotected, felling a dozen or so soldiers. The mages threw their own volley, this time with more vigour. They burnt through shields, armour and flesh alike, but the Pale soldiers kept up their attack, and with the next volley, more soldiers along the walls fell, screaming in pain. Three of the healers ran along the walls, hastily casting the warm glow of Restoration onto wounds. The arrow had barely been pulled out, and the flesh barely healed, and the healers were onto their next target.

The volleys went back and forth several times, each side losing men, but slowly Winterhold lost more and more soldiers, and they had none to take their place. The clinching moment came when a stray arrow struck one of the healers in the chest as she knelt over her patient. The poor woman clutched the arrow as she arched her back and toppled the twenty foot drop off the wall and into the courtyard to join the pile of just one more wounded.

"Come on, come on!" Rolf shouted at his soldiers. "We need more than this. Throw everything you can at them."

Similar words were being said by Irontooth who had just lost half a dozen soldiers to his right. The wall was slick with their blood. These words seemed to be having an effect on both walls, especially on the mages as their spells became more intense. Ice spikes were sharper, and firebolts were hotter.

Rolf knew that his soldiers needed a rest. They had little fight left in them. He grabbed the Nord mage to his right who wielded a firebolt in his right hand and a shield in his left.

"See the commander down in the third line?" he said, pointing into the field where the commander with the shaved head still shouted orders at his soldiers, a vein popping on his forehead. The mage nodded. "I need you to get your most powerful fireball and throw it right at him."

"Yes, Captain," was the sordid response as the Nord dropped his shield and conjured red flames in each hand. He pushed his two hands together, his dirt covered face straining with the effort. Eventually, his hands were cupped with licks of flame spilling out between his fingers. When he couldn't build up the spell any longer, he threw it at the commander. It exploded just to the right of him, tearing several soldiers to shreds and scattering many more. Rolf knew it was a cowards move to have a mage target a commander like that. In better odds, it would have been Rolf's duty to take him down himself, but he needed the soldiers to retreat, and there was no other way.

"Good shot lad," Rolf said as he watched the commander writhe with pain. He clutched the right side of his face, red flesh welting up. Blood seeped through his armour, and his beard was scorched brown.

"Fall back!" he chocked, his hand still pressed on his burn. "Fall back!" he screamed louder, running towards the tree line where a camp hand undoubtedly been set up. The soldiers around him began to follow, concern turning into panic at their leader fleeing. Soon the entire army was racing back towards the camp, leaving dozens of bodies to litter the snow. There would be no more fighting that day.

A cheer went up all along the walls, soldiers lifting their bows and Irontooth hoisted his hammer far above his head. He released a tremendous roar, true to his race, and several soldiers around him jumped back in fear. Rolf smiled and clapped the Nord mage who had wounded the commander on the back. The poor lad was now finding it hard to breath, and he sat down heavily on the wall, soothing fingers at his temples.

"Come on lads, light a fire. It's time to eat!" Rolf called.

_If we can fight one day, maybe, just maybe, we can fight another._


	10. Ten

The whitewash of the ice fields shone with the light of a hundred suns around the line of people who slowly trudged their way south. They formed a dark slither on the white snow as hundreds of men and women stumbled along the icy road. Some wore fur-lined collars, but it did little to keep out the cold.

Mages and men crested the hill, and before them sprawled Fort Kastav. In a few short days it had been converted from a crumbling ruin to a bustling fortress. Guards patrolled the outer walls, and archers stood watch atop the tower at its south-west corner. Chatter broke out amongst the horde as they laughed and pointed at roaring fires and the promise of a bed within the barracks.

The fort stood in the only pass through the mountains to the south, but the pass cut south-westward through the mountains, and the fort itself faced west. The fort extended between two imposing cliff faces who's hard shoulders cast a looming shadow into the pass. Fort Kastav completely blocked any route into Winterhold from the south save for a small, iron enforced gate where the road ran through the fort. At its southern end rose the keep, its three levels keeping watch over the field below, and upon it flew the black crown of Winterhold, imposed on an ice blue background.

"Here they come!" shouted a guard atop the keep. He stared in awe at the long line of black figures that followed the road. They curly haired soldier had come from a small hovel in the city, but now it dawned on him that he was part of something bigger than he ever thought, something that might change Skyrim forever.

He looked down into the fort and saw people running about making last minute preparations for the reinforcements. The wind blew ferociously around him, threatening to tear the flag that he was standing next to from its pole. The small fire he had built sputtered and spouted sparks, but he just smiled and pulled his fur collar tighter around him. Hope was coming.

The gates slowly creaked open as the horde approached. Many soldiers and mages craned their necks to look through the gate into what would be their home during the war. A great, snowy courtyard greeted them, filled with tents, forges and workshops. Almost every blacksmith in the hold was busy hammering out swords and axes or tirelessly shaping steel and iron into armour. Next to them were rows of fletchers who carefully inspected every arrow before handing out bows and quivers to queues of soldiers. Meanwhile, healers rushed here and there, gathering ingredients or brewing potions, throwing them into boxes when they were done, and then they moved onto the next one without pause. Two huge workshops stood at the northern end of the courtyard, towering wooden scaffolding surrounding two almost-complete catapults.

The workers quickly stopped what they were doing when the gates opened and an army of nine hundred soldiers and mages strode into the courtyard, led by a fur-cloaked Hoarik Forge-Blazer. His dented iron armour had been replaced with a newly forged suit of steel plate armour with the crown of Winterhold emblazoned on his chest.

Hoarik stood at the centre of his men, turning on the spot, a frown on his face. "Right men, we've got to make this place the best damned fortress in Skyrim. I need everything inventoried from bread to arrows. I need to know exactly what we're dealing with here. As for the rest of you, help build up defences inside and outside the fort." The soldiers scurried away from him to crates and barrels scattered around the courtyard, and to the storage rooms within the keep. Hoarik and his men had brought several carts of provisions with them. The stores of Winterhold had almost been emptied for Hoarik's convoy. These supplies were now being unloaded into the keep, and the horses were being fed and watered.

"Lad, how many soldiers were here before I arrived?" Hoarik said, grabbing a passing soldier.

"Fifty-two, my Thane."

"Nine-hundred-and-fifty-two soldiers," he whispered, mostly to himself. "That's all, soldier."

"Sir," the soldier said, and marched away.

Hoarik climbed the stairs to the wall, taking two at a time. He gazed over the ice field and watched the men build up wooden barricades in front of the shallow ice shelf that the fort stood upon. One extra line of defence.

"Nine-hundred-and-fifty-two soldiers. Solitude has five times that alone. This is going to end in blood and fire."

* * *

"They're at the gate!" shouted Captain Rolf. Men ran along walls, stopping to shoot arrows as they went. The two Alterationists stood before the gate, focused and unmoving. They barely blinked. Dawn had brought the Pale army marching upon the fort, but the Winterhold army was prepared.

Archers had been placed on the walls well before the sun had risen, and mages stood ready to light the pre-dawn sky with fire.

But it had gone wrong.

The army had approached with steel-lined shields, which arrows and ice spikes rarely penetrated. Fire still burnt the wood but did not harm the soldier, and the army reached the fort with minimal losses. Immediately, they focused their attack on the gate, shooting arrows up at the soldiers on the walls, however the Alterationists stood strong, and no side made any headway.

"Irontooth, get your men over here, and your mages onto the keep!" shouted Rolf from above the gate, sword and shield in hand.

"Your heard the Captain. To the gate. Spellslingers, you'll have a better vantage up on the keep," Irontooth commanded, and the soldiers and mages began filing their way along the walls.

Several Illusionists were already on the keep and had a good vantage point of the battlefield below. It was a desperate struggle for control over the gate. The simple wooden structure was the cornerstone of the battle. The Illusionists were doing their best to sow chaos within the ranks of the enemy, and several soldiers could be seen fleeing from the battlefield. After yesterdays battle, however, the Illusionists felt drained, and their spells were not as powerful. This effect was felt throughout the rest of the mages. Some of them had almost completely ran out of Magicka and were forced to pick up bows. Very few mages knew how to use one.

Rolf stood on the wall above the gate, his shield raised. Several arrows protruded from it, but none had pierced through his steel armour. He scanned the field of men below, but he saw no sign of their commander. _That'll bring morale down,_ he thought to himself with a small smile.

Irontooth came up beside him and placed a meaty hand on his shoulder.

"Something isn't right here," Irontooth said, glancing down at the soldiers underneath him.

"I know. They seem too disorganised. How do they expect to get into the fort with only arrows?" Rolf said, his brow creased. "There's something we're not seeing."

* * *

Korir stood before the wooden walls of Winterhold, the red dawn light shining off the snow. Since their return from the Moot, the wall had been made bigger and stronger. Great timber logs now stood erect in the snow, supporting the thick beams that ran between them. Most of the trees surrounding the city had been cut down for its construction. What once was a vast snow plain dotted with pines was now an empty field, extending to the rock shore to the east, and the Winterhold Mountains to the west. To the south, the cobbled road snaked its way towards Fort Kastav, hugging the mountain range. Korir climbed to the top of one of the watchtowers on the gate and stared over all of this. All that he owned. He heaved a sigh, gathered his cloak, and made his way back into the city.

Throughout Skyrim, Winterhold was known as a dead city, its population dead or gone after the Great Collapse, but Jarl Korir saw life all around him. Smoke rose from holes in thatched roofs, and people bustled in and out of Birna's Goods; the only half decent shop in Winterhold. The Frozen Hearth was almost repaired. The last few bundles of thatch were being added to the roof. Dagur, the owner, stood outside beaming at the kindness of his neighbours. As a kind gesture, they'd managed to find him a shire horse and sturdy wagon to transport crates and barrels for when he could get his inn up and running.

 _A useless gift. To get mead into Winterhold would need an army willing to cut their way to nearest meadery,_ Korir thought, but he simply looked away and moved on. The Jarl's Longhouse stood across the road from The Frozen Hearth. It towered above all other buildings in the city save for the College of Winterhold. Despite this, the fact that is was made of wood and thatch could not be hidden. Kai stood at the top of the wooden steps, his arms crossed.

"Jarl Korir, how am I to act as your housecarl if you run off without telling me where you are?"

"You aren't my mother, Kai. I can look after myself in my own city," Korir said, stopping at the bottom of the steps.

"We are at war. Assassins could be hiding around every corner. Do not forget the shadows the citizens are still seeing."

"They can't be very good assassins if every drunkard and housewife can see them," Korir said, trying to push past Kai.

"My point still stands," Kai said, grabbing hold of Korir's arm.

"Let me go, Kai." Korir stared into the man's eyes. Kai returned the gaze before letting him go. "And I'll trouble you to remember your position," Korir said before heading inside.

Master Wunfarth stood inside, looking mistily into the central fire. His hands were clasped in front of him, and his long, grey sleeves dangled almost to the floor. He looked up as Korir entered and inclined his head in a bow.

"Jarl Korir, how fares it?" asked the old monk.

"Not well, my friend. Almost a thousand men are stationed at Fort Kastav, yet I fear it will not be enough. They may be able to fend off an attack from Windhelm, but barely. If any more holds join the fight then we will wake up to smoke on the horizon any day." The Jarl slumped himself onto his tall throne. He looked up at the tattered mammoth skull that hung above him, a reminder of a time when they used to call the frozen waste their home, along with their giant shepherds.

"How fares the battle to the west?" Wunfarth asked after a moments pause.

"A pigeon came this morning. They are under heavy siege by Jarl Skald's armies," he said dryly.

"They may still prevail."

"Let's say they are still alive. What about the iron and precious metals in the mine? We can't get them out during a siege. We are bankrupt, Wunfarth. There is not a Septim in our coffers. We cannot fund this war!" Korir shouted, leaping from where he sat. His fists were clenched, and his jaw was set.

"Then we need to find a way to break this siege, or retake the fort if we must. Send a rider into the ice plains. If the beacon at Snowpoint is lit, then there is hope yet. If not, then prepare the city for attack," Wunfarth said, staring back into the fire.

"Malur," Korir commanded. His steward appeared on the landing leading to his chambers on the upper level. "Yes, my Jarl?"

"Send a rider into the plains. Tell them to report back on whether Snowpoint Beacon is lit."

"Yes, my Jarl," Malur said, and he threw on his thick fur coat and hurried from the Longhouse.

"Milady," Malur said, and bowed as an elegant yet aged woman strolled into the Longhouse. Her simple white dress was the same colour as her hair, and she walked as if born to the Emperor. Her hands hung delicately at her side. A young stable hand walked behind her, heaving in a heavy bag.

"Korir, my love, what's this I hear about you starting a war? Can I not go to visit my niece without you stirring trouble?"

"Thaena!" Korir yelled and rushed to meet her. He brought her in for a heavy kiss before letting her go. He wrapped his large arms around her delicate frame and held her tightly. "I didn't expect you back for another week."

"Well, when one hears news that one's husband has sparked a civil war, one returns home immediately," she said. She drew away from him and stared up into his eyes for several seconds. "You daft bastard! It's actually true?" Korir could only nod, and in response he received a sharp slap. "I can't leave you alone for five minutes." Korir reeled from the slap and silence fell across them. This was held for only a few moments before both Korir and Thaena burst out laughing. They hugged tightly, laughter still spilling from them.

"Oh, Thaena, it's good to see you," Korir said, releasing her.

"Oh, I know. Maybe I can get this place back in order," she said, pointing to the door on the right of the hall, directing the boy as to where her bags should go.

"I think I'm doing a pretty good job with what I have," Korir said, crossing his arms.

"Oh, do you? You think that wooden construct you call a wall will last five minutes?"

"Perhaps not, but I'm hoping it won't be put to the test."

"Is that so? I suppose Fort Kastav was looking quite impressive when I passed through. Thankfully the soldiers recognised me and didn't give me any trouble," Thaena said, stepping closer to her husband. "I also passed a rather impressive army marching along the road. It included a fair number of mages, dear. Are we to be friends with the college now?"

"We have a mutual understanding, yes. They might win us this war," Korir said.

"Are you sure it's wise? I suppose we don't have much of an option, but be careful around them, okay?" Thaena said with big eyes.

"I always am. Is there anything useful you learnt whilst in Whiterun, dear?" Korir said sweetly.

"Whiterun's on the move. Not all soldiers, but a fair few hundred, but I got out of there before I could learn anything else. I'm sure if anyone there had recognised me, you'd have a ransom note for me by now," she said, pulling on Korir's collar.

"Thaena, where is our son?" Korir said, worry deep in his voice.

"Oh, don't worry, dear. He's still in the carriage getting his things along with..." She trailed off, looking at the floor.

"Along with?" he asked seriously.

"Oh, don't be mad, Korir dear. I couldn't very well leave them in Whiterun, not when they could so easily be arrested, or even killed for treason!"

"You brought your niece with you?"

"Well, yes, but also my sister, and her husband, and my niece's husband, and their children, and my brother, and his family, and-"

"You brought your entire family from Whiterun?" Korir said, stepping away from her.

"I'm sure we have room for them."

"Oh, I'm sure we do! But they could just as easily spy for Elisif as work with us," Korir patronised.

"They are my family!"

"They're from Whiterun, and they shall be returning there first thing in the morning."

"And what happens when the Jarl of Winterhold shows them the door? They'll return to Whiterun and make sure every citizen knows to back Elisif. Let them stay, but keep an eye on them. No courier in the city is to allow them to send a letter without your permission, and under no circumstances shall they be present for war councils."

Korir looked into his wife's pleading eyes. "You know I can't say no to you. Fine, they can stay, but if I catch them with a letter to Balgruuf or Elisif, I shall have no choice but to execute them for treason."

"I understand, Korir dear," Thaena said, her eyes at the ground.

"Go on, my love, and bring them in."

* * *

Fornice sat at her desk, pouring through a dusty tome. A pile of similar books sat on the floor beside her. A circle of bright blue light lay at the floor of her chambers as the noon day sun shone through the window. Behind her, the white lights of the alchemy garden bobbed and bounced between trees and flowers. The garden contained samples of most every plant in Skyrim, some containing great healing properties, and others were so deadly they were rarely spoken of. A heavy aroma swam from the garden, and it filled the room with a sickly sweet incense.

Her mouth moved with the words as she desperately searched the books for information. She looked up for a moment and rubbed her temples, and she reached over for a glass of wine.

"You shouldn't drink so much of that," Tolfdir said from the doorway. "Makes your mind foggy."

"All this reading is what's making it foggy, old man."

"What are you searching for?" he asked, moving closer to look over her shoulder.

"Any secrets about the college or the city that I don't know already."

"Found anything useful?"

"No. Well, I stumbled across some stories about the Augur of Dunlain, but if he's still around I doubt he'd help us," Fornice said, picking up another book.

"He is still down there, in the Midden. Somewhere," Tolfdir said.

"Still, he'd have no interest in us. Tolfdir, what do you need?" she said, beginning to flick through the pages.

"There have been reports around town of strange shadows, and they're asking for us to look into it," Tolfdir said.

"Isn't that a job for the guard? I don't have time for this."

"The guard aren't doing anything, and they're calling for our help."

"Fine. Send out a Battlemage." She turned around and looked at Tolfdir. "In fact, there's a young girl amongst the Battlemages by the name of Runa. She's skilled and smart, and she'll be up to the task."

"Very well, Fornice. I have been wondering, are you and I and the other leaders going to enter the battle? There have been whispers that it is cowardly for us to stay here and send our own to die," Tolfdir said gently.

Fornice heaved a deep sigh. "I have thought this myself, Tolfdir, and I'm afraid I must agree with those whispers. You and I are needed here, but we must send representatives to the battlefield. Our mages are lead by warriors, but only a mage knows how to use magic best."

"Who is to go?" Tolfdir said, he brows furrowed, knowing whoever was sent away might never return.

"Drevis and Phinis are to travel to Fort Kastav. They will lead our mages to battle there, and maybe their powers can offer them a hand as well."

Tolfdir looked at the ground for a brief moment, his hands clasped behind his back. "And to the Western Forts?" he said quietly.

"Faralda shall go to Fort Fellhammer. Maybe her magic can break the siege."

"Do you wish me to inform them now?"

"Yes, Tolfdir. Thank you. Send some of their students with them. We still have mages left that can fight."

"Yes, Fornice," Tolfdir said with a slight bow. He turned and hurried out of the room.

Fornice turned back to her desk, knowing she couldn't have put it off forever. She stared at a page of a book for a minute without reading a word before slamming it shut and standing up from her chair. She went over to the wine rack on the far wall and selected a cheap Skyrim vintage. The taste was always sharper than the more fruity High Rock or Cyrodiil wines. She gently fingered a dusty, ornate bottle at the bottom of the rack. It was an exceedingly expensive and old wine that Faralda had given her for her ascension to Arch-Mage. It was made in Summerset Isle and must have cost the Elf a fortune. Fornice hoped she hadn't sent her friend to her death.

She grabbed a chalice and poured herself a generous cup of the Skyrim vintage. She sat back at her desk, took a long draught and reopened the book. An ink drawing of a very familiar staff caught her eye. Underneath it in a flowing hand was a note on the staff, and Fornice leaned closer to the book to read it.

_The Staff of Magnus is one of the oldest known artefacts in Tamriel, if the stories are to be believed. It is told that it was created by Magnus, the architect of Mundus, himself. He used it as a tool to shape his creations and bring order to his new world. It is said nothing else could contain his power. When he fled Mundus, creating the sun; a gaping hole to Aetherius, he left the staff in Tamriel so that it may still bring order to the world._

_There have been many reports of mages wielding this staff. These date back as far as written records begin, lending truth to the Magnus myth. One particular story tells of Arch-Mage Shalidor using the staff to decimate the forces of Skyrim in the First Era. How the staff contains so much power is a mystery still, but it is undoubted that the staff is capable of catastrophic acts._

Fornice looked up from the book, and a plan formed in her mind.

* * *

"They've got ladders!" shouted Rolf, standing atop the walls of Fort Fellhammer. The siege had still barely begun when out of the forest ran Pale soldiers carrying heavy wooden ladders. They descended on the walls either side of the gate, and along the western wall. "They have ladders! Cut them down before they reach the wall or this is all over!"

Mages and archers all switched their aim to the band of ladders. Archers fired at the men carrying the ladders, felling many, but not enough. The mages did their best to set fire to the ladders themselves, and they managed to reduce two of them to ashes, but there were still many more. Two teams were already setting up ladders on the western wall, and there were still only a few soldiers defending it. "Irontooth, you're up," Rolf said to the Orc next to him, pointing the western wall where the first soldiers could be seen clambering onto the walls.

"Men, with me!" shouted Irontooth to his regiment, and his men instantly began running to the wall, past soldiers on the wall over the gate and through the courtyard. On their way, several men fired arrows into the increasing number of Pale soldiers on the wall, felling several. The few soldiers defending the wall, however, were being cut down by the increasing numbers. Irontooth was the first to come to their aid, caving in a man's skull with a single blow of his hammer. Blood splattered onto his face, but he ignored it and moved onto his next victim. Irontooth felled a young Nord with a blow to both legs, breaking them instantly. He finished him off with a downwards strike to the chest. By this time, several other soldiers had now reached the wall as well as a Destructionist. This mage blasted several men off the wall with a powerful fireball before freezing two men solid. A sword to the chest finished him off before he could cast another spell.

Ladders were now going up on either side of the gate, and more were going up on the western wall. The Winterhold soldiers were having trouble stemming the tide of Pale soldiers, and the walls were becoming a bloody mess. The dead and wounded were being trodden under the chaos of deadly sword fights. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air as mages fired everything they could from their depleted reserves of Magicka.

Rolf fought desperately to defend his wall, despite rapidly becoming outnumbered. Barely had the body of his victim fallen to the ground before he moved on to the next one. His steel armour now sported many cuts and dents from blows that had got passed him. Winterhold and Pale soldiers alike lay dead at his feet, but he cut his way through to the nearest ladder, violently kicking it away from the wall. The ladder fell down into the crowd below, injuring several soldiers. He cut down a soldier to his left with an axe stroke to the throat. Blood pooled from the man's body to join the blood already on the walls.

Irontooth's hammer came down on a ladder, shattering the top half completely. Splinters of wood flew in all directions, and the lower half fell to the ground. To his right, a swarm of Pale soldiers had killed the last defenders on the other side of the wall and now rushed towards him and a small band of his soldiers. Irontooth barely had time to turn around before the first were upon him. He blocked a sword swing with the hilt of his hammer, and then smashed it into his opponent's nose, breaking it instantly. The man was sent reeling, and was finished off with a blow to a chest.

"Push them back!" he shouted to his men. They were just beginning to engage the Pale soldiers. Irontooth strode forward, swinging his hammer in a blood-lust frenzy. Any blows that got passed him simply bounced off his iron armour. Beside him, a Winterhold soldier slammed his shield into the chest of a heavy built Pale soldier, winding him. The Winterhold soldier raised his sword for a killing blow, but was too slow. A sword was buried hilt deep into his chest, and was quickly pulled out by the soldier. This soldier was a large, hulking Nord, rivalling even Irontooth in size. Irontooth turned to face this foe and swung his hammer at him. The Nord blocked the blow with his great sword and swung heavily at Irontooth who narrowing avoided the razor edge. Another blow came just as quickly. This one connected with Irontooth's arm. He roared in pain, but swung his hammer in a mighty arc, bringing it down on the Nord's head. Blood poured from the gash on his arm, but he kept on fighting.

Rolf was fighting a bitter battle on his wall. Some of the fighting had spilled into the courtyard, and a small group of his men were desperately trying to defend the Alterationists who still blocked the gate from the main force of their enemy. Some more of the ladders had been cut down or burned, but they still had a great task ahead of them.

Rolf grabbed the collar of a Pale soldier and threw him over a wall before plunging his axe into a soldier on his right. His group was making headway along the wall. His mages had burnt most ladders along one half, and they had the Pale soldiers on the defensive. Rolf let out a bellowing roar and charged towards the fifty or so soldiers that remained on his wall, however more were still climbing up, and the courtyard was quickly filling with soldiers, Pale and Winterhold alike.

Rolf reached the first soldier, a scared young boy with no helmet. Rolf planted his axe into his throat, killing him instantly. He encountered a more seasoned soldier next, wielding a longsword. They parried blows, the Pale soldier on the attack, forcing Rolf backwards, but he caught ever blow on his axe. The soldier lift his sword for a downwards swing. Rolf jumped to the side, knocking the soldier off balance. Rolf smashed the hilt of his axe into the soldiers throat, stunning him, before plunging his axe into his chest. He fell to the floor, choking on blood.

The wall wasn't very wide, so only Rolf and a few soldiers could push forward at a time. Some of the Winterhold soldiers grabbed bows and tried to shoot past the front line, to some effect. Most mages were on the keep, shooting down into the battle, whilst some were on the walls tackling ladders. Rolf hoped it would be these mages that gave them the upper hand. If an army of mages couldn't help them, then nothing could.

Irontooth dislodged his hammer from the body of another soldier. He'd lost count of how many he'd killed, and he didn't care to know. He'd been a bandit for too long to care if killing was right or wrong. The soldiers on his wall were making slow headway, but the Pale soldiers were being pushed back to their last remaining ladders. He risked a quick glance over to Rolf's wall and was relieved to see a similar story, but that didn't last long. His face creased into a frown. _It shouldn't have been this easy._ He turned around, desperately looking for something out of place. Something really bad was going to happen, and he needed to know what. He looked down into the courtyard, and his heart dropped. There was a reason why they were doing so well on the walls. Most of the Pale soldiers had headed straight for the courtyard, and they were now cutting through the much smaller group of Winterhold soldiers who desperately fought to protect the Alterationists and Restorationists who huddled by the gate. The Alterationists struggled to keep the gate shut amidst the chaos. Irontooth kicked himself for not having noticed sooner.

"Men, to the courtyard now! We can't let them get that gate open," Irontooth shouted, running towards the steps, his hammer raised. He gestured up to the mages on the keep, and pointed towards the remaining ladders. They nodded and diverted their fire, but they were far away, and it would take a while before they got enough hits on the ladder to take it down.

Rolf killed the last soldier on his wall, and with a mighty roar, kicked the ladder away and into the soldiers below. He and his men cheered at their victory, but the sounds of fighting could still be heard. He wheeled around to see the courtyard brimming with soldiers still, and Irontooth leaping into the fray. "Alright men, this isn't over yet. Cut them down, and we can win this," he said to his men, and rushed to join Irontooth, raising his axe. He grabbed a shield from the body of a fallen soldier and leaped into the fight. He leapt off the steps, slamming his shield into the chest of a solid Nord woman and planting his axe into her skull. He rolled onto the bloodstained snow and viewed the battlefield. Irontooth's soldiers were cutting through the soldiers on the western side of the courtyard, whilst his own soldiers had joined those in the defence of the gate.

"Push them towards the keep!" he shouted at his soldiers who showed their obedience by ferociously hacking and slashing at their enemy, but the Pale soldiers weren't going to go down easily. They still outnumbered the Winterhold soldiers by more than half, and they were killing their fair share of men and women. Rolf desperately looked up at the keep where the mages were assembled and was disappointed to see them still tackling the ladders, cutting the steady stream of soldiers that were pouring into the courtyard. "Looks like we'll have to do this the good old fashioned way," he said to himself, before slamming his axe into the nearest soldier.

* * *

"Smoke! Smoke on the horizon!" called down the watchman from atop the keep of Fort Kastav. Hoarik threw down the arrows he was counting and ran up along the ramp that been constructed to allow the catapults to reach the first level of the keep. From there he ran up several flights of worn steps and emerged on the highest point in the fort. He looked across the vast field before him, and further. The southern reach of The Pale spread out before him. His eyes fell upon a great snow covered forest, and the glimmer of Lake Yorgrim. Somewhere beyond that was Whiterun Hold. His gaze fell just beyond the mountain range which blocked his view into Eastmarch. Just above the mountain line hung several streams of smoke from the direction of Windhelm.

"They're on the move," he whispered to himself, and the watchman next to him silently nodded. He stared at the smoke for several more seconds before running down the steps and snowy ramp into the courtyard. He stood in the centre of it and shouted out to every man within range.

"Alright, listen men!" Hoarik shouted, turning in a circle. People stopped what they were doing and listened to their leader with intent. It was then that the full weight of the power and responsibility that he held hit him. He stammered for a moment but continued in the same booming voice. "The soldiers from Windhelm are marching this way as we speak, and if we're to survive then we need to be ready for them. I need you all to work double time, as we can't afford any surprises when they arrive, certainly not from within these walls. I may not be from Winterhold, but it is my home as much as it is any of yours. You are men of the ice, and we shall not let these people shackle us. Many of you will die in defence of your home, but Sovngarde awaits any Nord who dies with a sword in their hand. So fight. Fight like the armies ahead hold your wife and children in their hands. Fight like they hold torches to your homes. Fight like they are destroying everything you love, because if we lose, all that will be reality. We are the last hope here, so at dawn the Vanguard and Conjurationists shall stand in front of the fortress, ready for whatever comes through that pass. At dawn, we shall fight!" He ended with a great Nordic roar, his fist raised in the air. The soldiers and mages around the fort responded with a fury not seen in Winterhold for centuries. They banged their shields and shouted to the heavens, ready to fight and die for their homes. Amongst the soldiers on the wall, a lone mage fisted the air with a shout just as loud as the others. Onmund was ready for battle.

* * *

They were pushing forward, Rolf and his soldiers. Their line never wavered, and they managed to push the Pale soldiers a good way back towards the keep. Irontooth and his soldiers had punched a hole through the Pale line and were wreaking havoc from within. This all came crashing down when Rolf heard a high pitched scream behind him. He wheeled around to see the Redguard Alterationist lying on the floor, an arrow going straight through her thigh. Blood poured out onto the snow, and her face was pale. The Dunmer Alterationist tried with all his might to hold the shield, his face twisted in exertion, and beads of sweat appeared on his brow. It was in vain, however, as the shield began to flicker, and bright green cracks appeared along its length.

"Let it go," Rolf shouted at the Dunmer. "You'll die if you try to hold it."

With a defeated sigh, the Dunmer stepped away, and the shield shattered into tiny glass fragments that fizzled away into the air.

"Mages, kill whatever comes through the gate," Rolf called to the mages atop the keep. The gates burst open, and the hordes of The Pale charged into the courtyard, fury in their eyes.


	11. Eleven

"I'm sorry, Arch-Mage, but I can find no trace of these shadows that the citizens are talking about. I searched every inch of the city and spoke to dozens of people, but nothing turned up," Runa told Fornice, her head bowed.

"I didn't really expect you to find anything, but the fact that we tried might settle people down," Fornice replied kindly.

"Yes, Arch-Mage." Runa paused for a moment, looking deep in thought. "Do you think these shadows are real, Arch-Mage?"

"Oh, I doubt it. Probably just townsmen exaggerating things," Fornice said dismissively.

"I think they're real." Fornice raised an eyebrow at Runa's openness. "I mean no disrespect, Arch-Mage, but everyone I spoke to could describe them in detail, and they all said near enough the same thing. They looked human, except... wrong. Bent over and moved as if injured."

"What do you think they are, then?" Fornice asked.

"I'm not sure. I still haven't worked out if there's only one or several shadows. Do I have your permission to continue my investigation?" Runa said.

"Hmm. Yes. Yes you do. Report back to me with anything you find," Fornice said, one finger tapping on her chin.

"Arch-Mage," Runa said with a bow. She turned on her heel and left the room, her steel armour clanking together as she walked.

As soon as Runa had left, Fornice reached into her robes and took out a thick, wrought iron key. Hastily, she walked across the room to a small black safe that was embedded in the wall above her bed. Standing precariously on her bed, she fit the key into the lock and opened the safe to reveal it to be empty save for another key. This one, however, was beautifully crafted from sterling silver. The handle swam with interlocking threads of white gold, and the key itself was made up of a dozen smooth curves and bends, much like a river. This ensured that it was nigh on impossible to open the door this key unlocked without the key itself. In fact, the room the door guarded had never been broken into for hundreds of years until several weeks ago when three reckless royal mages had found a way inside.

Fornice took the key and made her way to the Winterhold Vault.

* * *

It was over before it had begun. The Pale soldiers had outnumbered Rolf's men three to one, and they had been backed up against the keep. The mages, after felling several men, had run out of Magicka, barely being able to summon a lick of flame. All Rolf could do was call a surrender before any more of his men were killed.

Right now, he was tied to a post in the centre of the courtyard. To his right sat Irontooth, looking miserable and defeated. To his left, the Dunmer Alterationist sat with his head lolled onto his shoulder. Rolf worried that he wouldn't last, as the magic he used trying to keep the shield up had drained all his strength.

Around the courtyard, soldiers and mages were in a similar situation. Dozens of posts had been erected, and all anyone could do was sit and glare as the Pale soldiers took free roam of Fort Fellhammer.

"Well, Captain Rolf, look how the tables have turned." Rolf looked up to see the Pale Commander bearing down on him, bloody rags covering half his face. "Oh, you've noticed my face?" the Commander said nonchalantly. "Thanks to your little stunt with the fireball, it'll be a tattered mess for as long as I live." He crouched down and grabbed Rolf's chin, jerking his head upwards so they were eye to eye. "But I now have your fort. It's a nice little place, but you do like to hide your secrets in it. Just imagine my surprise when I took a little stroll through that mine of yours and found piles of gold! And who says Winterhold is a destitute hold?" He threw Rolf's head back so that it slammed against the post, causing Rolf to hiss and grit his teeth with pain. The Commander simply laughed and spat in Rolf's face before standing up. "But how rude of me, I never introduced myself. My name is Commander Jod of Dawnstar, and that's exactly where I'll be taking you soon enough, but first we need to make a stop in Winterhold." At this, Rolf struggled to break free of his bonds but to no avail. He kicked at the dirt and snow and clawed at the post. "Are you quite done?" Jod asked after Rolf had slumped down in defeat,

"You'll never take the city," he spat at Jod.

"Not with my much depleted army, no, but reinforcements from Morthal should be here by tomorrow, and then there's nothing standing in between me and that hovel you call a city."

"Why do this, Jod? You owe nothing to Elisif," Rolf said pleadingly. His voice spilt out weakly between the matted clumps of hair that hung in front of his face.

"She is my Queen, and Skald is my Jarl. We all have our orders, Rolf. You obeyed yours, and I obeyed mine. It's just unlucky how these things end."

"Join us. With your army we can stand against Elisif. She's a bad queen, and we all know it. If you join and your men fight for us, then we can continue to make a stand." Rolf tilted his head to look straight up at Jod. He in returned crouched and looked Rolf in the eyes before saying, with clear determination;

"We have our orders. Winterhold may be your home, but Dawnstar is mine, and if Dawnstar supports Elisif, then so do I."

"Will you be a sheep all your life, Jod?" In response, Rolf got a sharp kick to the ribs.

"I'll be named a Thane for this, Rolf, and you will be hanged. Don't forget that." Jod spat in Rolf's face and strutted his way into the keep.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Peric, but I've been told to take the rest of my students with me. It's your duty to fight," Drevis said authoritatively.

"I have no problem doing my duty, but I just want to know why we're being sent out so suddenly," Peric said while rummaging through the draws in his room.

"Tolfdir was never clear. I assume it's because we can't hold back if we want to win this war, and you of all people should know the value of Illusion."

"It can turn the tide of battle, as you've told me."

"And as you've proved. Fornice told me what you did in Castle Dour and Fort Fellhammer." Drevis put a wrinkled hand on Peric's shoulder, and Peric turned around to face his tutor. "I'm proud of you."

Peric stared at the old Dunmer before his face cracked into a smile. "You've always been harsh words and brutal training, Drevis. Not once have you said that to me."

"I'm not as bad as all that!" Drevis said with a laugh. "But I suppose I sometimes push my students too hard. Besides, that might prove to save your life out there. If I were soft on you, you wouldn't last a minute."

"You might well be right."

"And I've always been proud of you, all of you, but you're my star pupil, Peric. One day you might take over my position as the authority on Illusion magic," Drevis said with a proud smile.

"If there's a college left."

"If there's a college left." Drevis paused and pondered over his words for a moment before patting Peric's shoulder. "Come now, pack your things. We won't be returning here for a long time," Drevis said and left the room, no doubt to tackle the rest of his students.

Peric watched him leave before turning back to packing with a heavy sigh. Thoughts of war clouded his mind, thoughts of battle and death. He could handle himself against a few guards and bandits, but an army? His thoughts drifted from war to a familiar face with a beaming smile and rosy cheeks, but his mind shifted again, and he saw the same face, but it was cold and unforgiving. With a defeated grunt, he grabbed his staff and walk slowly from the room.

* * *

"Brelyna!" Peric called as he entered the Hall of Countenance.

"I'm here, Peric," Brelyna called from a room to his right. Peric walked over to it and pulled away the thick velvet curtain. Brelyna's room was much grander than her one in the Hall of Attainment. Thick tapestries hung from the walls, most of which showed a brilliant spiked eye; the symbol of the College of Winterhold. Furs were draped along her floor and bed, which was a large double affair, and a tiered chandelier hung from her ceiling, burning bright with dripping wax.

"I'm leaving for Fort Kastav soon," Peric said.

"I know. Many of my students will be joining you," Brelyna said, holding up a stack of papers.

"Are you coming?"

"No, Peric," Brelyna said with a sigh. "Fornice has told me I'm needed here at the college, and I have to agree with her. Right now I'm having to sort out what few students I have left, and three of them are refusing to be deployed," Brelyna said, waving the papers in the air. "I need to try and save them."

"Save them?"

"Jarl Korir has imposed martial law on every citizen, including the mages. If they refuse to do their duty, they'll be tried and hanged. It's a shame it had to happen to Alteration. I'm still new to this, and I have no idea how to save them as well as add to the war effort."

"By The Eight, Brelyna, I'm so sorry," Peric said, putting his hand on her robed arm.

"By The Eight, by The Nine, by all the Daedra in Oblivion! What does it matter to them? Regardless if they face the gibbet or the sword of Elisif's men, no god can help them then," she said, brushing off Peric's hand.

"Do you still have time to be a friend?"

"I...yes, Peric, I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't come to me if it wasn't important," Brelyna said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. Peric sat in a chair opposite her.

"Well, I'm being deployed at Fort Kastav."

"Yes, you said."

"You could try letting me finish," Peric said, a smile on his face. Brelyna smiled back and mumbled an apology. "Onmund's already there, and last week, after Jarl Korir and the rest had left the Hall of Attainment, it was just Onmund and I left. He told me about his family, how he kept an amulet given to him by his brother so as to remember them by. He then said he wanted something to remember me by, and then he kissed me," Peric said, wringing his hands and looking at the floor. When he finally looked up at Brelyna, she had a huge smile on her face.

"So he finally did it? I thought it was about time."

"What do you mean?" Peric asked incredulously.

"I'm surprised you never saw it coming. He's told me about how he feels a couple of times but always under strict confidence. These kind of things aren't smiled upon by many Nords, you see."

"It's not exactly celebrated by Bretons either, but it's at least tolerated."

"What do you think about Onmund, Peric? Why come to me about this?" Brelyna asked with curiosity.

"I have no problem with him being into other men, but he's into me, and I can't reciprocate that. That's not who I am," Peric said. A sense of how much he may have hurt Onmund seeped into his voice.

"Then you need to make amends. When you reach Fort Kastav, find him. Let him know you're his friend," Brelyna said softly and understandingly.

Peric stood up and turned to Brelyna with a smile. "Thank you, my friend. I best finish getting my things. We leave soon."

Brelyna responded by standing up herself and embracing Peric in a crushing hug. "Good luck, Peric. Come back to me, and bring Onmund with you."

"I will. I promise," he said, and he turned and left the room.

* * *

The Vault door stood before Fornice and Tolfdir, all wrought iron and magic. Runes were carved into the iron, protecting it from countless spells. Fornice felt somewhat intimidated by looking up at the high door. The door itself was situated in a brown cavern, many hundreds of feet below the college. Few knew how to get the Vault as it required many twists and turns through the Midden, and after that it meant descending hundreds of feet through natural caves that snaked down below the College. It was very easy to hit dead ends and blocked routes when traversing these caves, and that had a nasty way of turning people around, making sure they didn't find their way out. Fornice mused that they were probably somewhere beneath the Sea of Ghosts, judging by the dankness of the high walls. Four Battlemages stood guard at either side of the Vault door looking stoic and unmoving. Fornice nodded to them before looking up at the door again.

"How in Oblivion did those mages manage to break in here?" Fornice asked Tolfdir. This was only the second time she had ever visited the Vault, but Tolfdir had been down there countless times while at the College.

"None of us are really sure," replied Tolfdir. "One theory that sprang up was that they bribed someone inside the college, however I shut that down saying only you had the means of accessing the Vault."

Fornice nodded her head. "What's the most likely reason?"

"Sergius tells me the mages in the Imperial City have magics which can unlock doors, and a mage trained extensively in this magic faces few doors which they cannot open. He also tells me Mystics from the College of Whispers may dispel the work of other mages, including, but not limited to, protective runes," Tolfdir said with a a knowledgeable authority.

"They must have been planning this for some time," Fornice said worriedly.

"Years, most likely. It was no secret that the three boys sojourned to Cyrodiil for some time two years ago. They either came up with the plan there or may have even went there for the purpose of learning these magics."

"Why did they not use this magic to unlock their cages in the Chill? When we found them, the cages were all but destroyed."

"They likely wished for it to be kept a secret. If it were to be known these boys had access to almost anywhere in Tamriel, few people would ever trust them. It would also almost certainly prove their guilt in this break in," he said.

"Well, when this war is over, we must find a way to make sure something like this never happens again," Fornice said, approaching the great iron door. Tolfdir silently stepped beside her whilst she drew the silver key from her robes. She pushed it into the tiny keyhole which would easily have have been missed amongst the great mass of metal if it was not known to be there. She turned it slowly to the right, and instantly a deep blue mist spread from the key hole and billowed across the door, thus dispelling the runes until the door was sealed again. Without any aid from Fornice and Tolfdir, the great iron doors, several feet thick, silently slid open. The two doors slowly split apart to reveal the hidden treasures beneath the College.

"By The Eight," Fornice whispered as the Vault revealed itself to her. The Vault was vast beyond Fornice's memory and stretched out before her for several hundred feet. Great slabs of white marble paved the floors, whilst the walls and ceiling was of the same rough stone as the cavern. Two rows of black marble pillars stretched down the length of the room, green jade leaves twisting up them to reach the ceiling. A vast, seven tiered chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling. It wasn't hundreds of candles that sat upon it, but hundreds of light spells, casting a brilliant white glow across the room. If snow and purity could produce light, it would look very much like this. It wasn't just the room itself that had Fornice impressed, but what the room contained. Open mahogany cabinets lined the walls, interspersed by glass and crystal display cases. The cabinets contained small trinkets such as rings and amulets ranging from battered copper affairs to grand gold and diamond complexities. Fornice reached out to the nearest one; a necklace made of sapphires connected by silver chains, ending in a large glowing sapphire at the end the size of her thumb nail. A small tag was attached to it that read in a flowing script:

_Treasured jewels of Arch-Mage Dilen, a woman of great power. The jewels gave her the power of foresight, allowing her to predict and prevent a raid on the College of Winterhold by a Necromancer cult. C. Third Era 274._

Armour was donned by glass mannequins, some holding ornate weapons in their fragile hands, others bent in the various positions of spell casting. Other weapons hung from mahogany stands that leant against the pillars or stood on top of cupboards.

"The wealth," Tolfdir whispered as he and Fornice slowly made their way along the length of the Vault.

"The power," Fornice responded, gently brushing her hand along the length of a malicious looking hammer.

It took Fornice and Tolfdir quite some time to reach the other end of the Vault as they stopped every couple of feet to examine or marvel over a particular item. When they finally reached the far end of the Vault, the stood looking up in awe. The entire far wall, reaching up to the high ceiling was covered in staffs hanging on metal brackets. The jewelled staffs of Illusion hung amongst the carved wooden destruction staffs. The spiked Conjuration staffs mingled with the safer looking Restoration and yellow tipped Alteration staffs. This myriad of magical weapons created a grand aesthetic that Tolfdir doubted even the Blue Palace of Solitude could match up to.

Fornice gingerly stepped forward and reached upwards to pick up a carved wooden staff with a pointed ghostly gem at on end and a sphere of the same material at the other. The sphere appeared to be unattached from the three wooden curves that seemingly held it in place. The very aura of the weapon spoke of deep magics, and the power resonating from it was almost intoxicating. Fornice held it horizontally in her hands with a gentle touch. She feared even the slightest provocation might release its immense power. Holding the staff, she believed the book entirely on its stories of its great uses.

"The Staff of Magnus," Fornice said and turned to Tolfdir.

"I remember when you first brought it to me," he said. "It feels even more powerful than I remember."

"I hope I'm right to use it."

"Only time will tell, but come. We have much to do," Tolfdir said and led Fornice, who now clutched the staff more confidently, out of the Vault.

* * *

Fornice looked down into the silver goblet. Slivers of mist pooled out of it and caressed her hand, turning it numb, but she didn't care. He eyes twinkled with wonder as she stared at the dragon tear that rocked about at the bottom of the goblet as her hand shook.

"What to do with you," she whispered to herself as she stared down at the tiny fragment of ice. She was sure no one else in Skyrim possessed such a treasure, and she did not want it to go to waste.

A brief scuffle. It could've been the wind, but it could've been any number of things. Fornice straightened up and quickly turned around, but there was nothing to be seen. There it was again, to her right. She span around, and yet there was no trace of the noise. She stared at the spot she thought the noise was coming from for a minute, her breath held, but nothing moved. Slowly she turned back round to look at the dragon tear, her hand thoroughly frozen.

Hissing. Spitting. Behind her. Fornice wheeled around, the goblet flying from her hand, the dragon tear bouncing across the room to land at the feet of a shockingly white body crouched in fear or aggression. It face was wrinkled and twisted, long slits for nose and ugly red ruins for eyes.

Fornice stifled a scream as she saw it, her hand flying to her mouth. The creature crouched as if deciding whether to run or not, but it stayed there, its head cocked, listening to Fornice's every move.

"Falmer," she whispered, slowly taking away her hand from her mouth, her fingers twitching in readiness to cast a spell at a seconds notice.

The Falmer woman, for it was a woman judging by her long silver hair and the black chitin which gave her chest some modesty, opened her mouth slightly, baring sharp teeth at Fornice. It jerked its mouth wider and Fornice gasped.

"We...have...met before," she said in a sharp, high voice, spluttering over the words.

"Yes, at the fort," Fornice said, her shock slowly turning into curiosity.

"You...saved us...from slav...slavery. We make...good...slaves...I hear," she coughed out and erupted into a shrieking laugh at her little joke.

Fornice took a step back at the outburst, he hands jumping up to cast a spell, but the Falmer raised her hand in a sign of peace.

"You're the shadows that people have seen around town, aren't you?" Fornice said.

The Falmer smiled her sharp smile. "I expect so...yes. I...mean no harm," she said, slowly finding her voice.

"How can you speak?" Fornice asked.

"We are not...the animals you...think we are. We...have...watched your...k...kind for...many years. We have...learnt much." The Falmer shuffled closer to Fornice. Her gait was awkward, and she lead with her right leg. She reached out and grabbed Fornice's hand and gently placed it on her empty eyes sockets. "Heal us," she said.

Fornice squirmed at the feel of the pink mess but did not pull away. "Is that why you're here? I don't know how to."

"There...must be a...way. We came so far...North, because...we can smell...the magic. You...smell of magic." The Falmer pulled away from Fornice and shuffled back across the room and felt along the ground. Her hand closed around the dragon tear. For a moment she stood there perplexed, a frown crossing her face. Slowly she turned around and offered it back to Fornice, her arm outstretched. "There...is much power...in this ice...what is it?"

Fornice took the tear back and dropped it into the now regained goblet. "It is a tear from a dragon."

The Falmer smiled a sharp smile. "We have...fought...many dragons. We never...thought...to get their...tears. Who knows? Maybe...this is...our answer."

Fornice smiled and sat down in a chair. This Falmer was no threat, at least not for now. "My name is Fornice, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. What is yours?"

"Mirtil, Queen...of the Snow Elves," she rasped. Her chin inched higher as she spoke her title.

Fornice stood up from her chair, shock plastered on her face. "I did not know your people had a hierarchy, let alone a queen."

"You...have seen our...towns, our...villages, yes? Do you think...they...could be...built without...a leader?" Mirtil said, absent mindedly shuffling about the room. Every now and then she would pick up an item and roll it about in her bony fingers before putting down and walking away. "Will you...help us?"

Fornice walked over to the door and called behind her. "I don't know if I can, but I know someone who might. Wait here," she said and ran from the room.

* * *

"And why should I help you?" Colette said in a piercing, angry voice. She looked squarely at Mirtil with her hands on her hips. "Your kind have butchered some of my best students!"

"I had always intended...to repay...you," said Mirtil calmly, her right ear pointed at Colette, but her face and body was directed to Fornice.

"I doubt you have anything you can offer us," Colette said piously, looking down her flat nose at Mirtil. "Fornice, how could you consider such a thing as helping this beast?"

Fornice opened her mouth to retort, but Mirtil beat her too it. "I have soldiers...many soldiers. You are...fighting a...war, and I...am willing to...help," she said, calm as ever.

"You would sacrifice your armies for your sight?" Fornice asked.

"No. Not my...sight. Our sight. You will...need to cure...us all."

"That's impossible," Colette said plainly with a dark look on her face.

"Then you will...lose this war, and...we will still...be safe underground," Mirtil said, a hint of threat in her voice.

"Colette, we cannot turn away potential allies," Fornice said forcefully.

"She is not an ally. She is a monster. Do you think Jarl Korir will allow Falmer in his army?"

"I don't think Jarl Korir has a choice. He knows he cannot turn away soldiers."

"Even if Jarl Korir did accept them, the men won't. They have been told about these creatures since they were young boys, and none of the stories are nice ones."

Fornice stood and thought about this for a moment before slowly replying. "If they had eyes again, if they could talk properly again, and if they had proper weapons and armour, then I think the men will slowly see them as people. Colette, I think, deep down, that's what they are. People. We would be monsters ourselves if we turned them away."

"Charity in a time of war, Fornice?" Colette said with a smirk.

"Business in a time of war." She leaned in closer to Colette. "And I think she has a few more things to offer us than soldiers."

"I'm blind not...deaf," piped in Mirtil with a smile full of sharp teeth. "But you are...right. Restore our sight, and you...will have soldiers. Restore...anything else; our...voices, our faces, and...you will have more."

Colette and Fornice exchanged a glance. "I shall begin right away," Colette said and rolled up sleeves, preparing for work.

* * *

"You know you have Falmer crawling about your town," said the man in the black leather armour that stood before Korir.

"Excuse me?" Korir said, eyeing the man with arms folded.

"Falmer. In your town. I'm surprised no one's seen them."

Korir looked over at Malur who stood with his hands behind his back facing the steps that Korir stood upon. Malur offered a shrug and said. "I' would explain the shadows."

Korir scowled at him and turned to address the similarly armoured congregation that gathered in the Longhouse. Master Wunfarth stood to attention on Korir's right. "I will investigate that later, but now we must discuss what I need from you all. Your guild has kindly offered your services to me, and I intend to make full use of them. You each have specialised skills I am sure, and I need you to decide which job is best suited for each of you. Firstly, I need someone with knowledge of prisons to inspect my own and to report back what improvements should be made. Secondly, I need a group of spies to infiltrate the courts throughout Skyrim. Thirdly, a contingent of scouts is needed for use on the battlefield..." The list went on, Korir demanding couriers and infiltrators and propagandists and a dozen other roles. By the end of it all, Winterhold had an espionage team.

"Is that all, Jarl Korir?" asked the man who had spoken earlier, clearly the thieves leader.

"Almost..."

"Rune. The name's Rune," said the man.

"Almost, Rune. There is one other service I might ask of you. I need assassins."

"Jarl Korir, this isn't the Dark Brotherhood. We do not kill," Rune said.

"I don't doubt that each of you has killed a man before. Thieving is dangerous work, and I'm sure when complications arise you do what you must to survive."

"That's all very true, but we do not take contracts to kill people. There are very few things we won't do for you, and that is one of them," Rune said forcefully, but with respect.

"I thought you might say that, but this is a necessity I cannot go without." Jarl Korir stood in thought for a moment. "Would you have any moral qualms in leaving two thieves here that may work to protect me against assassin attacks?"

Rune thought for a moment and glanced at a couple of his people who gave him some hidden signal that Korir could not see, but Rune turned back and said, "No, that is reasonable."

"Good. They will also spend some of their time scouting Winterhold and making suggestions as to how to prevent would be assassins entering my city."

Rune bowed his head in response. "If you'll excuse me, Jarl Korir, my people and I will retire to your inn to delegate missions."

"Return tomorrow with a list of names and their assignments. I shall have more specific orders for you all."

The two men bowed to each other, and the thieves left the Longhouse.

* * *

"Look at this, Fornice," Colette said and beckoned her over to a glass flask filled with a red liquid. "I took a sample of blood from Mirtil to see if I could gather clues on her affliction, and this appeared."

Fornice leaned over the flask, not seeing anything for a moment, but Colette tilted it and Fornice raised her eyebrows in surprise. Tiny particles in the blood reflected light and took on a luminescent green hue, almost as if they were metallic. "What do you think it is?" Fornice asked.

"I'm not sure. It could be anything," Colette replied, swirling the flask, and the particles disappeared. "Well that's something at least. They're partly soluble."

"I've seen that colour somewhere before," Fornice said thoughtfully. "Mirtil, do you recognise this colour?" Mirtil tilted her head at Fornice and said nothing. "Oh. Right. No eyes." Fornice walked across the room and sat down in a chair, deep in thought.

"Fornice, these people have been afflicted with this curse for thousands of years. I doubt a humble healer like me can do anything to help," Colette said, putting the flask down on her work table.

Fornice looked up at Colette with a small smile on her face. "Colette, you are one of, if not the most skilled healers in Skyrim. I have every faith in you." Fornice's smile widened into a grin. "And I know where that colour's from." Fornice hurried over to the alchemy garden that grew in the centre of the room. She hitched up her robes and gingerly stepped around the countless plants and mushrooms that saturated the small patch of soil. She reached the dead tree in the centre and grasped one of the glowing green mushrooms that grew up it like shelves. The mushroom came away easily, dripping florescent liquid onto the ground. Fornice hopped her way out of the garden and held out the mushroom to Colette, liquid dribbling down her arm. "Hundreds of these were in a chest that the Falmer claimed at Fort Fellhammer. I believe they eat them," she said excitedly.

Mirtil raised her head in excitement. "Yes...yes that's...all we can eat...we don't know...why, but...if we don't...eat them we...die." Saying this, Mirtil scurried across the room and felt for the mushroom before shovelling it it into her mouth. Green liquid oozed from between sharp teeth.

Colette stared at Mirtil curiously. "The mushroom travels to the blood, and then travels through the entire body. It's likely this mushroom is a toxin that, after entering the body, alters the host somehow so that they cannot survive without whatever the mushroom provides."

"It is...how we were...enslaved by...the bandits."

"And most likely the Dwemer too," Colette said. "They may have known of the mushroom's properties and forced your people to eat them."

"Is it these...mushrooms which makes us...blind?"

"I can't be sure. There are many tests I will have to do," Colette said, returning to her work table. She glanced over at the flask to see that the green particles were once again visible. "I think there's definitely a link."

"Well, it's a start," Fornice said with a weak smile. "Colette, I think you're right. Jarl Korir won't accept Falmer in his army, so I'll need to approach him about this. I'll need to work hard to make him see them as a necessity. Besides, who knows what rage he'll fly into if he finds out I've kept this a secret," she said nervously.

"I'll stay here with Mirtil and carry on with my research." She glanced over to the Falmer. "I'll protect her if your visit to Jarl Korir goes ill."

"Thank you, my friend."

* * *

"No, please, no!" screamed the young girl behind Rolf. This was followed by a wet slicing sound and a strangled gurgle. Rolf closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

"That's a message to any more mage scum who wish to speak out," shouted Jod across the courtyard. You have no power now, and I will make sure you're dealt with like the dirt you are."

Rolf could take no more of it. "Please, don't kill anyone else. You sent your message with the first one. Please just stop," he pleaded. He heard Jod stop his march across the courtyard. The sound of his heavy boots resumed, but this time they were coming closer.

"What was that, Captain Rolf?"

"Please. Stop," he said weakly.

"Captain, don't do it," hissed Irontooth beside him.

"Keep quiet, Orc," snapped Jod who now stood in front of them. "Captain Rolf, what did I just say about speaking out?"

"I'm not a mage, Jod."

Jod knelt down in front of Rolf and looked him up and down. "Well, it looks like I'll need to send another message." He stood up and turned to the other prisoners. "Your captain has defied my orders. I don't think you people understand that you are under my control and subject to my mercy." In one swift movement he drew his axe and brought it across Rolf's neck, blood spraying onto Irontooth's face. Gasps and screams escaped the mouths of those who could see Jod's butchery. Rolf's open-mouthed head fell heavily to the ground but was quickly scooped up by Jod who held it for all to see. "And I am quickly running out of mercy."

And that was the end of Rolf, Captain of Winterhold.


	12. Twelve

Commander Jod lounged in a high backed chair atop the keep at Fort Fellhammer. He looked at the freezing mages and soldiers still tied to posts in the courtyard. Blood still stained the ground where he'd executed several mages. A small smile spread across his lips as he remembered the execution of not only the mages, but Captain Rolf as well. A spike was now stuck through his head, and it adorned the gate to Fort Fellhammer. Jod took a swig of ale as he stared beyond the high walls of the courtyard into the wilderness beyond. He could just catch a glimpse of the cobbled road with ran south from Dawnstar to Fort Dunstad and eventually to Whiterun. The trees obscured most of his view, but he caught some interesting details, namely the Altmer woman standing just inside the tree line to the east where Snowpoint Beacon still burnt brightly. Jod stared at the unmoving woman for several seconds before noticing the thick wooden staff and mages robes which revealed what she was.

"Men, prepare for an attack!" screamed Jod, leaping up from his chair. The Pale soldiers scrambled for their weapons whilst the woman charged from the tree line. For a split second she was alone on the empty field of snow, but with a deafening roar an army of mages and soldiers launched themselves from the cover of the foliage. It wasn't a large army, only about a hundred and fifty soldiers as well as thirty mages, but the Pale soldiers were unprepared, and that was enough.

* * *

"Tear it down!" screamed Faralda as she sprinted across the snow. In response, the Destruction students in her charge ran even faster towards the wall. Arrows began flying at them before they'd reached it, but they did barely any damage as only the soldiers already on watch on the eastern wall had time to fire. The mages hit the eastern wall before more arrows could be fired and instantly made their way towards the recently repaired gate. They hugged close to the wall so as to make it difficult for archers to fire at the them. By this time, the soldiers had caught up with the mages. Their swords were drawn, ready to storm the fort.

Faralda stood in front the gate, a blue barrier raised from her left hand. Every now and then a ripple would pass across the barrier as arrows hit it, but they all bounced off without penetrating it. More and more of her mages stood in front of the gate, the same barriers raised. Once most of here students were by here side, Faralda dropped her barrier and cupped her hands. She stretched her arms towards the gate and licks of flame appeared between her palms. Within seconds, the fire had engulfed her hands and forearms, glowing white hot. With a shout, the inferno was released towards the gate with a mighty explosion which shook the very walls of the fort. The gate was now pieces of charred wood that were scattered about the courtyard. Several unfortunate soldiers had been caught in the blast, and all that remained were pieces of charred armour. Faralda fell to one knee as her students and soldier rushed past her into the courtyard. Soldiers already awaited them, but this was a force to be reckoned with. Whilst the foot soldiers tackled the majority of the Pale army, Faralda's students threw archers and soldier off the walls with fireballs and storms of ice. The fireballs took pieces of masonry with the, raining rock and rubble onto the Pale army.

* * *

Jod stood atop the keep looking down in horror as the gate was torn apart by magic. He ducked for cover as he saw spells fly towards the walls and screamed as he felt the impact of the explosions. He still hadn't recovered from the fireball that had damaged his face, and the injury hurt now more than ever. He shakily peered over the edge of the keep to see the walls a mess of rubble and bodies. The walls were still structurally sound save for the top two feet which were blown clear off. He swore as he saw the raging battle in the courtyard between his grey-clad soldiers and the light blue regalia of Winterhold. Though his army was larger, the enemies mages had turned their attention on the soldiers in the courtyard, reducing them to ashes or freezing them solid. This was quickly turning from a battle to a massacre.

* * *

Faralda cast a stream of flames from her fingertips, lighting the ground with pillars of fire. This incinerated the men rushing towards her with screams and the acrid smell of burnt flesh. Several of her students adopted this technique, and in minutes the courtyard was a mess of dead and wounded, the majority of which belonged to Jod's army. Several Winterhold soldiers dedicated themselves to freeing the imprisoned soldiers and mages. Those that could fight picked up weapons from the dead and bolstered Faralda's army. The imprisoned mages had the advantage of almost fully replenished Magicka, and their firebolts and ice spikes joined the more powerful spells of Faralda's students, mowing down soldiers.

* * *

"Retreat! Retreat!" screamed Jod from atop the keep, already running down the ramp which led to the walls. "Retreat to Fort Dunstand!" His soldiers looked about in confusion before abandoning the fight. Some managed to make a break for the gate and ran across the field. Others leapt off the walls, swiftly followed by Commander Jod. Many were winded by the landing and could only limp towards the tree line. The majority of soldiers, however, were backed into corners and had no option but to surrender. The Winterhold soldiers hastily bound them to the posts that they themselves had been tied to only minutes before

Faralda ran to the arch above the gate and cheered as Jod and only a few dozen of his men made it to the tree line.

* * *

"Open the gate!" shouted the guard as Drevis and Phinis' entourage approached Fort Kastav. Peric stood next to Drevis at the head of the column of mages and thieves. He was draped in his brown robes adorned with a sabre cat skin collar and hood rim. It had cost him more than he'd like to admit, but it had saved him shattering his teeth due to chattering on the long trek to Fort Kastav. He was nervous. He knew he'd have to see Onmund again, and his heart beat faster just thinking about it, but he was also excited to see his friend again. Slightly ahead of him, Phinis half jogged his way to the fort. The man had gone on about how guilty he felt for abandoning his students for the entire march, but now he felt like he had redemption. None of his students would die without him there to do what he could to defend them.

"Are you ready, Peric?" Drevis asked in a concerned voice. His students would not be on the front line, but all in Fort Kastav would be in danger during a siege.

"Yes, Drevis. I'm ready," Peric said. "Is it wrong that I'm kind of excited for this?"

Drevis laughed out loud at this, causing several students to stare in his direction. "Oh, to be young again. Every young man has visions of a glorious war where they become a hero. No, Peric, you're fine. Just don't get yourself killed."

"I'll be on the walls or the keep. I should be okay," Peric said.

"And I'll be right there with you all." Drevis stopped and turned to face his students, as well as the scattering of others from the other schools. "I think it's time you see exactly how powerful your mentor is. Let's show Elisif's men we're not to be messed with!" The column of mages and thieves cheered and roared as they walked through the gate to Fort Kastav. Even Phinis threw back a smile.

Chaos. Fort Kastav was in chaos. The screams of the wounded rang through the courtyard from the makeshift infirmary in the north-east corner. The thin canvas that draped from wall to wall to make a roof provided the patients no shelter from the cold. The walls stood strong, bar from the scorched and cracked areas where catapults had hit groups of archers. The uninjured archers, interspersed with mages from every school bar Conjuration and Restoration, lined the walls and the first two levels of the keep. They shuffled about nervously, whispering to each other and pointed over the walls to targets that Peric knew not what.

"Oh, thank The Nine you've arrived," Hoarik said as he ran over to the bewildered group of mages now standing in the centre of the courtyard. "Elisif is about to launch another attack, and we need you in positions right away."

"Elisif is here?" Drevis asked.

"No, but Brunwulf Free-Winter is, and he's doing a damn fine job at leading his army."

"Free-Winter? The Jarl of Windhelm?" Peric asked.

"The very same. I hope it hasn't demoralise our boys that their Jarl is here but ours is not," Hoarik said conspiratorially.

"They'll understand. He needs to handle things back in Winterhold," Drevis said.

"Well, wherever Jarl Korir needs to be, we're needed here, and there's an army outside waiting to cut our throats and burn our homes, and we can't have that, can we?" Hoarik said with a sly grin. "Drevis, I need you and your Illusionists on the keep. From there, you'll do your best to sow chaos into Jarl Brunwulf's army. I've been told by some of your students that were initially sent here that you have spells which can bolster someone's abilities, is that correct?"

"It is indeed. We can make them fight harder and for longer with the right spells," Drevis said proudly.

"Brilliant. In which case, I'll need you to keep an eye on our boys and give them any help you can."

"Of course," Drevis said.

"Thieves, I want you to hide yourself on the bluffs overlooking Brunwulf's army. There's a mountain path that'll lead you there just outside the back gate. Update me on any information I might need," Hoarik said.

"Yes, Hoarik," said a red haired woman in black leather, including a hood which covered most of her face.

"I want to be with my students," interjected Phinis.

"On the front line?" Hoarik said, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes. I can offer them support in both morale and magic. They need me out there."

"Okay," Hoarik said after a long pause. "And I shall go with you. My lieutenants can handle things in the fort, but I need to be with the men most at risk, as do you."

"Thank you," Phinis said with a bow of his head.

At that moment, a flaming rock hit the top of the wall, sending archers and their screams flying. This was followed by another catapult shot next to where the first one hit.

"Okay, positions everyone!" Hoarik shouted to the mage and thief reinforcements. "Brunwulf is attacking. Grab what you need and get to your places. Now." Hoarik drew his sword and him and Phinis ran to the gate which was thrown open by the guards.

"Illusionists, with me!" Drevis shouted and made his way to the ramp that led to the keep.

* * *

Peric stood on the highest level of the keep, shock on his face. In all his nightmares, never had he imagined war to be this...vast. Flaming catapult shots bombarded the walls from the half dozen catapults in Brunwulf's army. The Alterationists did their best to repel the projectiles with magical shields, but they could not cover the whole wall, and some of the barriers collapsed under the strain, showering the walls with magic, stone and fire.

It was in slow motion that Peric saw the Winterhold soldiers draw the swords and axes as the five-thousand strong army from Windhelm and Solitude charged their five-hundred strong lines. It was in the same blur that he watched Daedra appear from purple and black doors of Oblivion, controlled by the one-hundred-and-twenty Conjurationists. Fire and frost flickered before his eyes as burning feminine flame atronachs came to be, and towering frost atronachs pounded out onto the snow. Crackling storm atronachs span their bodies of electricity and stone in excitement for the bloodshed. He saw archers knock arrows and mages prepare spells all along the walls. He saw soldiers fire their own catapults in response to the enemies barrage. He saw this unfold in front of him and yet did nothing.

"Get your act together, boy!" shouted Drevis in his ear. Suddenly the spell was broken and everything came to a climax. The catapults found their mark and left two gaping holes in Brunwulf's army. The archers fired their volley, followed by the mages, cutting down the front few rows, but it barely made any difference, but the atronachs did. The soldiers faltered at seeing the horde of Daedra, but the atronachs did not stop their charge. The ice and storm atronachs slammed into Brunwulf's army, wreaking havoc. Soldiers screamed as their bodies convulsed with electricity, and many didn't make a sound as they were pummelled into the snow by the ice atronachs. The flame atronachs launched volleys of fire into the approaching lines, and any man who got too close to them was engulfed in flames.

"Peric!" Drevis shouted, punching him in the shoulder. "Join the fight."

Peric glanced back and saw the Illusionists with spells ready. He quickly summoned a frenzy spell, a glowing cloud of red smoke in his palms.

"Now!" Drevis shouted, and the Illusionists added their lot to the fight. Their job was to cause chaos, and it worked. Some men dropped their weapons and stood in a placid daze, staring at the battle in front of them; the results of calm spells. Others dropped their weapons and ran screaming as nightmares filled their minds. Others gripped them tight and plunged them into the man next to them before hacking and slashing at anything that moved. Peric winced as a calmed soldiers looked on with a smile as a frenzied soldier swung his sword vertically down on his head.

* * *

Onmund smiled as his frost atronach swatted away a soldier that was charging towards Onmund himself. Though the Daedra added to the Winterhold army as whole, they were first and foremost the Conjurationists personal body guards. The Battlemages also helped to protect the Conjurationists, forming an impenetrable line. They were just as likely to cut open a man with their sword as with a spell. Their swords were particularly deadly, as they were wreathed in flames; a product of skilful Enchanting.

The soldiers were faring worse than the mages. They had no spells or creatures to protect them, and the superior numbers of the enemy were crushing them. Men left and right were being cut down. Hoarik pulled his sword out of a Solitude soldier and looked around at his soldiers. He shouted in anger as he saw a third of his soldiers gone already. "No, no. This can't happen." The battle can't go ill this early on. The strategy was flawless. Hoarik turned and saw the atronachs clustered around the Conjurationists who had taken next to no losses. "No, they're meant to protect all of us," he said through gritted teeth. He glanced at his soldiers who, even now, were being cut down quickly. "Retreat! Back to the fort!" he shouted, sword in the air. His soldiers didn't need to be told twice. They managed to back pedal to the gates, cutting down any soldiers who came after them. The soldiers on the other side of the Conjurationists carried on the fight. They slowly edged their way towards the group of mages, seeking shelter with them. Hoarik desperately tried to get their attention, but he was running out of time. The horde of soldiers was getting denser by the second, and it was now or never. He and his soldiers were now by the rapidly opening gate, and he threw one look back at the soldiers, mages and atronachs before running through it.

"Close the gate," he said to the guards.

"But sir, there are people still-"

"Close it." The guards nodded and slowly pushed the gate shut.

"They've left us!" Onmund shouted over to Phinis who glanced over to the gate which closed before his eyes.

"We need to get back inside the fort," Phinis said, grabbing the lieutenant and pointed towards the gate. She nodded in return and began directing the fight towards the fort. By now, the group was slowly being surrounded, and that was a position they could not afford to be in. Some of the weaker Conjurationists had cast the atronachs back to Oblivion, not being able to sustain the spell any longer. The number of atronachs were slowly dwindling. The group managed to inch their way closer the gate. The atronachs were dropping one by one, and so were the soldiers. The mages who'd lost their atronachs took cover behind those that still stood, hoping that they too would be protected, but very soon very few Daedra remained. Onmund watched as his frost atronach's leg was shattered with a hammer blow, and it came crashing to the ground only to disappear back to Oblivion. He was frozen in fear as he saw a Windhelm soldier charge towards him, sword drawn. The soldier slashed at Onmund, ripping a deep gash across his chest. Onmund fell to the ground, screaming out in pain. The soldier raised his sword to plunge down into Onmund's chest, but he was blasted away by a flame atronach. The mage it belonged to helped Onmund onto his feet. Onmund grunted and hobbled along, blood gashing from chest.

"Come on, you can make it," said the blonde mage supporting him. He wasn't uninjured himself, but he managed to haul Onmund along.

Phinis could see they weren't going to make it. The gate was still two-hundred feet away, and they were almost out of soldiers and atronachs. Most of the Battlemages were still alive, but they were tiring quickly. The archers and mages on the walls were desperately doing what they could to help, but Brunwulf's army was too large, and the catapult barrage was too intense for them to make any real difference. Phinis would not lose his students like this. Too many of them already lay dead already, and he would not allow any more to die. He dropped his staff to the ground and raised both hands in the air. From them seeped a deep purple mist which convalesced into two towering doors to Oblivion. From them stepped the largest atronachs Onmund had every seen. He couldn't tell if he was dreaming them, as he was slowly losing consciousness due to blood loss, but he saw two twenty-five foot frost atronachs step out of the void and straight onto the soldiers. He saw spikes of ice protrude from their hunched backs and maced arms which they used to fling soldiers into the air with terrified screams. His vision started to go black. His head slumping forward.

"No, stay with me pal. We're almost there. We'll get you to the healers," said the man holding him, slapping his face. This woke Onmund up briefly, but he was slipping away fast.

The giant frost atronachs smashed their way through the enemy lines, and Phinis led the mages and soldier in a final dash to the gates which had now been thrown open for them. The soldiers from Windhelm and Solitude now parted for them for fear of coming too close to the atronachs. With a final sprint, and a quick hobble from Onmund and the blonde mage, the survivors made it inside Fort Kastav.

* * *

Onmund woke up to the sound of fighting. He sat up and grunted as his chest flared in pain.

"No, don't do that," said a voice next to him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. "Don't reopen that wound."

Onmund stared up into the smiling face of Peric. "I-I won't," he said with an embarrassed look.

"How are you feeling?"

"It hurts. Not as bad as it should, I suppose, but Restoration is a wonderful school," he said with a weak laugh which turned into another grunt as his chest flared.

"They managed to patch you up best they could, but you'll need to rest."

"How long have I been out for?" Onmund said worriedly.

"Only a day. Some of the others still haven't woken."

"Didn't they need me out there?"

"I don't think anyone's going outside those walls for a while," Peric said, looking up at the wall where archers and mages fired arrows and spells into the army below.

"What happened after I blacked out?" Onmund asked.

"Well we managed to get you all back inside the walls. Phinis' very impressive atronachs stayed outside to kill as many soldiers as possible, but they went down when the catapults began firing on them."

"That's a shame. I thought I'd dreamt those things," Onmund smiled.

"I think Brunwulf and his boys wish they were a dream, Those beasts took out a couple of hundred of them." Peric laughed at his own joke, and Onmund snorted out a laugh as well.

"Don't make me laugh! It hurts my chest."

Peric instantly stopped laughing, a look of concern on his face. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I don't want you fussing over me, though. I'll get myself some potions soon, and I'll be okay," Onmund said, offering a reassuring smile.

"Alright, I'm sorry... I'm also sorry for what happened back at the College. I shouldn't have been so cold to you-"

"Peric, do you know how many times you've done something wrong? You're always apologising for something."

"I know, and I'm sorry for that too-"

"And do you know how many times I forgive you? All of them. I should be the one saying sorry. I was the one that kissed you."

"That was kinda weird," Peric admitted. "But you're my friend, and that's definitely not gonna get between us. Can we put it behind us?"

"Of course. Thank you for not hating me," Onmund said with a smile.

"Thank you for not hating me too," Peric said, visibly more cheery than usual.

"Listen, there was a mage, Conjurationist like me. He helped me get back to Fort Kastav."

"And what about this cute blonde mage of yours?" Peric said, leaning on his elbows.

"How do you know what he looks like?"

"He's been here looking after you more than I have," Peric said with a wink.

"Well, he's not "cute," and he's not mine."

"He's a bit cute," Peric said.

"How would you know?" said Onmund.

"Brelyna's commented on enough guys for me to know what cute looks like," said Peric.

"Well, he's still not mine."

"Who isn't?" said the mage in question, peeking in through through the tent flap. "Sorry, none of my business," he said bashfully, rubbing the back of his head. Onmund had to admit he was pretty attractive; blonde swept back hair, constantly red cheeks and shocking blue eyes. He smiled and dimples pricked his face on either side of flashing white teeth. Onmund noted he was a Nord like himself.

Peric stood up with a massive smile on his face. Onmund knew exactly what he was planning. He tried to stop him, but it was too late. "We were talking about you, actually. Onmund was asking where the cute boy who saved his life was."

"Peric! I never.. I'm sorry he..." Onmund stuttered, his red cheeks going redder.

"It's okay, Onmund, I'm not gonna tell him about the things you said you'd like to do to him." During this, Onmund looked the boy in the eyes and slowly shook his head. The boy snorted with laughter. Peric saw this, and his grin got bigger. "But I shall leave you two alone to discuss that more," he said and left the tent, but not before throwing the boy a wink. He and the boy were now alone in the tent.

"Sorry about him," Onmund said.

"He's quite a character."

"He's an arsehole, but he's my friend," said Onmund.

"I'm Brannard, by the way," he said, smiling at Onmund's comment.

"Onmund."

"I know. Peric told me a lot about you while you were asleep," Brannard said.

"That can't be a good thing."

"He's a good lad, but no, some of the things he said you probably wouldn't have wanted him to," Brannard admitted.

"So he talked about...?" Onmund said, eyebrows raised. He slowly sat himself up. Brannard reached over to help but held back.

"Yeah, he did, but don't worry that doesn't matter to me," he said hurriedly.

"It doesn't?" Onmund said.

"No. It's uh...it's happened to me," he said, once again rubbing the back of his neck.

"You were in Peric's position?"

"No. Yours, but it didn't end as well."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Onmund said, genuine concern on his face.

"It's okay. It happened a long time ago, before I even came to the College," he said, sitting on the chair beside Onmund.

"That wasn't too long ago was it? I think I've seen you around."

"I've definitely seen you."

Onmund stuttered for a moment. "What's it like out there?"

"Stable. The archers and mages are stopping the soldiers climbing the walls. Every time they try with ladders, they're burnt away with wall spells."

"Wall spells? First time I've heard of those," Onmund said.

"They're a high level Destruction spell. They create an impenetrable wall of fire that burns anything that steps through them. First time I've seen them in action, and they're definitely impressive."

"How many men did with lose with our failed attempt?" Onmund suddenly asked, recalling the events that put him in his state.

"Too many. About three-hundred. Hoarik and Phinis are still arguing in the captain's quarters."

"Hoarik needs to be made responsible for what he did. He killed so many on that field," Onmund said sternly.

"It's not so simple. Hoarik rightly states that he took the orders from Jarl Korir and blames the deaths on Phinis," Brannard said, leaning forward.

"What did Phinis do?" said Onmund.

"Well Hoarik says the atronachs were supposed to protect everyone, not just the Conjurationists. Phinis says that's simply not how the spells operate and blames Hoarik for closing the gate on the rest of us. It's a mess," Brannard said.

"We can't have this inner strife. It'll be that which kills us, not Brunwulf. Speaking of, what are we supposed to do now?"

"The Conjurationists have no further orders. We're simply asked to stay inside the fort until a use can be found for us."

"Oh, so not fodder then?" Onmund said angrily.

"That's not fair, and you know it," said Brannard.

"Well, I have to agree with Phinis," said Onmund, crossing his arms.

"And I agree with Hoarik."

There was silence as the two men stared at each other. This filled the room for only a few moments before Brannard looked down with a sigh.

"You're right, we can't have arguments. The point is, something went wrong, and it was Brunwulf's men who killed ours," Brannard said.

Onmund smiled. "It's rare to see a Nord back down."

"Well, I saved your life. No point wanting to kill you now," he said.

"I uh... thank you for that, by the way. If there's anything I can do-"

"Share a meal with me," Brannard said overly hastily. "If you wouldn't mind."

"It's the least I could do," Onmund said, looking up at Brannard. Peric was right, he really was cute.

"Great. Wait here, I'll pull something together."

"What, now?" Onmund said, but it was too late. Brannard had already ran out the tent.

* * *

Peric looked down at the hordes of red and blue soldiers. He was back at his position atop the keep watching the battle below. It was a source of pride for him that no matter how hard Brunwulf and his army tried, they could not get a single man over the walls. After a particularly hardy ladder let a man put a foot on the wall, a game had begun amongst the Illusionists. Peric had already won forty Septims by betting well on which ladders reached the wall and which ones crumbled before they got close.

"Ten Septims on the one on the right!" shouted Drevis, pointing excitedly.

"I'll take that," said Peric, holding out his hand. The ladder was hit by a spear of ice, knocking it off balance and straight into a newly conjured wall of flame.

"Ugh, you're gonna run me dry," Drevis said, tinkling coins into Peric's hand who tucked them away in the coin purse on his belt.

"Keep this up, and I'll be able to buy myself a new pair of boots and robes," Peric said.

"I'll win it back," Drevis muttered.

"That one. On the left. Twenty says it'll land on the wall," pointed a girl behind the pair.

"Sure, I'll take that," Drevis said. The ladder landed on the wall with a thud. "Damn." Drevis handed over the money. "I say that one!" he said, pointing over to a ladder in the centre, and it landed on the wall as well.

"Shame no one took it, Drevis," Peric said, patting his shoulder.

"Wait, hold on," Drevis said, his brows creasing. One by one, the ladders were all hitting the walls. "What's going on?" Soldiers were now climbing onto the walls, and the archers were drawing swords. "Why aren't there any wall spells?" And he was right. All that was left on the far side of the wall was melted snow and scorched earth.

"Come on, Drevis. We have to help," Peric said, readying a fear spell.

Drevis stood in silence, watching as ladder after ladder and soldier after soldier mounted the wall.

"Drevis!" shouted Peric.

"Yes! Okay. Half of you deal with the enemy. The rest of you bolster our own troops. We need those soldiers off the wall," Drevis said, throwing a fear spell at one of the ladders. The soldiers on it paused their climb before throwing themselves from the ladder with screams of terror. These were replaced by screams of pain as they hit the ground. Peric released his spell to a similar effect, as did some of the other students. The rest sent bolts of spiralling green energy at the Winterhold soldiers. Some of them shouted in fear as the spell hit them, thinking it to be the enemy or friendly fire, but as the spell took effect, they knew what to do.

"Peric, look!" Drevis said, pointing at the wall. Peric smiled as he saw what Drevis was talking about. The rally spells had certainly done their job. Winterhold soldiers were throwing men off the walls with their bare hands, whilst some swung heavy hammers and axes as if they were wooden toys. The enemy was being cut down all around and were being pushed back to the ladders. This gave the mages enough breathing space to burn down many of the ladders, especially the ones that had been abandoned by the terrified soldiers.

As the last soldier was thrown off the wall and the last ladder burnt, the Illusionists breathed a sigh of relief and let the rally spells dissipate. The mysteriously missing wall spells suddenly sparked back to life, coating the outside of the wall with fire.

"Do they have any ladders left?" Peric asked, craning his neck.

"I don't think so," said Drevis with more than a sigh of relief.

"What're we gonna bet on now?" Peric said. At that moment the catapult nearest to them made a direct hit on one of the enemy catapults, sending burning debris rocketing skyward. The games began again with renewed vigour.

* * *

Faralda stood before her prisoners, pacing back and forth. Irontooth stood unmoving, staring the Pale soldiers in the eyes.

"I have a tough choice here," she said, continuing her pacing. "I should rightfully kill you all or torture you for information."

"Your eminence, I beg of you please don't harm us," said a soldier near to her.

"Your eminence? Such manners," Faralda mocked. "But I see no other way."

"Faralda, stop this teasing. Kill them and be done with it," Irontooth said, staring straight ahead.

"You will not tell me what to do. I am a Master Wizard of the College of Winterhold. I am the authority on Destruction magic throughout Skyrim. I can melt the flesh off your bones as if it were nothing," she said as though she was the High Queen.

"Uh yes, ma'am," Irontooth faltered. "Sorry, ma'am."

"But tell me, Irontooth, what would a common thug like you do with these men?" she said with a flare of curiosity.

"With respect to your opinion of me, a common thug like me was given a second chance. I inhabited Fort Fellhammer before Jarl Korir took over, and he saw fit to conscript me into his army. Perhaps we could consider doing the same with these men," Irontooth said.

"What noble thoughts you have, Irontooth. Such an intriguing idea. What say you, enemies of Winterhold?"

"Your arcane excellence, to keep our lives, we would do anything," said the soldier who spoke before. This was met with murmurs of agreement from the other soldiers.

"Who is the highest ranking member amongst you?" asked Faralda. The soldiers all looked around at each other, but none spoke. "None of you have a rank?" she said, quite surprised. They all nodded or murmured confirmation. "A group of soldiers with no leader who are willing to fight for Winterhold. Irontooth, could we refuse several dozen new recruits?"

"I wouldn't say we could, no."

"Very well. If you are willing to spill the blood of your countrymen, then I shall spare your lives."

"We are," said the soldier. One by one, the others repeated those two words.

"We shall see," Faralda said quietly, clicking her fingers for the soldiers to be untied. "You shall accompany me to Fort Dunstad. There you will fight just as hard as any soldier of Winterhold against Commander Jod and his men; your ex-brothers-in-arms. If you can prove yourselves there, then you will become soldiers of Winterhold." Faralda turned to face the soldiers and mages that were grouped in the courtyard and on the walls. "Ready yourselves. Tomorrow we shall march on Fort Dunstad and repay these villains for what they've done to us!" She lifted her hand in the air, and a pillar of flame shot hundreds of feet into the sky. Moments later, the same was seen from Snowpoint Beacon. Along the mountain range that separated Winterhold from The Pale, four pillars could be seen. The garrisons from Fort Fellhammer, Snowpoint Beacon, Driftshade Refuge and Frostflow Lighthouse were ready for battle.


	13. Thirteen

High Queen Elisif strode confidently through the halls of Castle Dour. Guards and servants bowed to her as walked past, her hands were clasped in front of her and her chin pointed up. Her fur coat dragged along the cold slate floor, trailing behind her. Atop her head rested a delicate crown made of intricately woven strands of silver interspersed with pale sapphires. She turned another corner in the labyrinthine castle and pushed her way through a grand wooden door, bolted with iron.

"Ah, High Queen Elisif. Please sit," General Tullius said, gesturing to a plump armchair by a roaring fire. His office was a basic sort of room, smaller than one might have expected for the Imperial Liaison to Skyrim. Once the general tasked with crushing the Stormcloak Rebellion, Tullius, though still a general, was now a diplomat. His grey hair was cut short in a militaristic fashion, and his large nose and tanned skin made him an obvious Imperial. He stood up from his squat mahogany desk and took a seat opposite the now occupied armchair. "Brandy?" he asked, uncorking a stout bottle.

"Cyrodilic?" Elisif asked, folding her arms into her coat.

"Would I offer you anything else?" Tullius said, pouring two glasses. "What can I do for you?"

"I need your legionnaires."

"No."

"No?"

"The Empire does not condone this war of yours," Tullius said, slamming down his glass. Elisif remained calm and collected.

"So when Ulfric wages a war against Skyrim, committing regicide in the process, the Legion is all too happy to step in, but when Korir, an original supporter of Ulfric, does the same, I get 'no'?"

"Elisif-"

"Queen Elisif," she said, holding up a hand.

"Queen Elisif, it's the Empire's opinion that you started this war, not Korir or Fornice."

"They killed my sons, Tullius."

"Your sons were imprisoned for theft and then attempted to escape. Korir's caught up in this, because he refused to betray his hold. You can't say you wouldn't do the same," Tullius said.

Elisif raised her chin and looked down upon Tullius who sat upright in his chair. "Can you not loan me several Battlemages? We are up against a lot of mages, and they will be more than useful."

" _You_ are up against a lot of mages. By all reports Winterhold has no grudge against the Empire, just you. No, I cannot give you anything." Tullius said, rising from the chair and turning to face the fire.

"Then I will find other ways. I'll petition the Synod and College of Whispers for help. I don't need you to get support from the Empire." Elisif paused for a moment and a coy smile appeared on her lips. "Maybe I'll send word to the Thalmor."

"You wouldn't dare," Tullius said, turning to face Elisif.

"Don't presume to know what I'd dare do. Elenwen might well take my side on this."

"Elenwen is most likely licking her lips like a hungry dog, just waiting for you to ask for her help. She'll jump in, save the day, and Skyrim and the Empire will owe the Thalmor one more favour," Tullius said more than forcefully.

"Then help me, Tullius," Elisif said.

Tullius sat back down with a sigh. "We cannot offer Legion support, however we will not allow you to petition the Thalmor for aid. Contact the Synod and the College of Whispers. I can pull a few strings, and, though I'm making no promises, they should help you in this little war of yours. Divines know you need it."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Elisif said with squinted eyes.

"You let Korir's entourage escape from Solitude, and you let Fort Fellhammer be retaken by Winterhold. Thus far, you haven't made any ground," Tullius said smugly.

"That shall change, Tullius. Their advantage is their mages, but when that's taken from them, they'll have nothing."

* * *

Jarl Laila Law-Giver pulled her fur-trimmed collar tight around her neck as she stepped into the frosty Riften air. Though milder than most holds, The Rift was seized by frost and fog every winter. Laila stood at the top of the stone steps leading up to the imposing Mistveil Keep, the seat of Riften's court and Jarl Laila's home and palace. Before her spread the reason for her visit out of Mistveil Keep; market day. Riften's square struggled to hold the countless stalls and people that filled it. Late comers had no choice but to fill side-streets and the wooden bridges across the canal with their wares. Market day turned Riften into a spider web of commerce, with the square being the centre where the hungry spider sat ready to pounce.

Maven Black-Briar carefully lifted a roll of cloth from a stall owned by a nervous looking Breton woman. She ran her ringed fingers along its length, judging its quality. She sniffed slightly before hoisting the roll under her arm.

"8 Septims," she said to the stall vendor.

"Done," the woman stuttered, graciously accepting the coins from Maven's hand. Both women knew the cloth was worth much more, but the stall vendor wanted Maven gone as soon as possible.

Maven turned away from the stall and spotted Jarl Laila standing at the top of the stone stairs to the palace. A sly smile crossed her face as she pretended not see, even as Laila hurried down the steps towards her. Maven strolled her way over to the blacksmith, one of the few permanent residents of Riften's market square. The smell of smoke and hot metal filled her nose.

"Balimund, it's been quite some time, and my dagger is not yet repaired," Maven said coldly to the heavy built Nord sporting long blonde hair in braids and a brilliantly bushy moustache.

"Maven, you know moonstone takes a while to get hold of-"

"You've said that for two entire weeks," Maven cut in.

"I was going to go on to say that it finally arrived. I was up all night fixing this delicate little thing," Balimund said, pulling a small elven dagger from behind the forge. The gold coloured dagger shimmered in the early morning sun.

"Next time, don't take so long to give me results," Maven said, snatching the dagger by the hilt and carefully inspected it. "But this is fine work as usual. Here, take this," she said tossing a small coin pouch at Balimund who expertly caught it in his meaty hands.

"Always a pleasure," he said before picking up a sword and sitting down at the grindstone to sharpen it.

"Maven!" called Laila, hurrying over to the woman who had turned away from Balimund.

"Ah, Jarl Laila, are you here to partake in the pleasures of market day?" said Maven with all courtesy, gesturing to the stalls.

"Well, yes, but I was hoping to speak to you. Perhaps you'd care to walk with me?" Laila said, mist pouring from her mouth.

"Of course, my Jarl," Maven said, taking the younger woman by the arm. Balimund glanced over at the two women and shook his head. He'd never understand the forced courtesy of politics.

When the two women were firmly wedged in the crowd of hundreds of market goers, Jarl Laila began to speak.

"Maven, I wish to know how our mutual friends are doing up north," she said curtly.

"My messages say they're being put to good use. None of it involves thievery, however they've infiltrated every court in Skyrim," Maven said with a proud smile. For years she'd been waiting for the day when she would no longer have to sneak around Laila on account of the Thieves Guild.

"Even my own?" Laila said.

"Laila, they infiltrated your court before you sat down on that throne for the first time."

"You are a prickly one, Maven," Laila said with no hint of humour or affection.

"It comes from the name, you see," Maven said sweetly.

"When shall reports start coming in?" Laila said, ignoring the comment.

"My people now report directly to our friend. It is up to him to send us reports, so it might be a fair few weeks," Maven said, adopting a similar tone to Jarl Laila.

"I can wait. Tell me, Maven, does it pain you to not make a profit?" After years of Maven running things in Riften from the shadows, Laila took a petty pleasure in her teasing.

"As long as I'm not making a loss, then I'm happy to help you," Maven said, and she meant it. She always thought Elisif needed to be taken down a peg, and this was the perfect way to do it. She had perfected the art of ignoring Laila's comments. "And I better not be making a loss."

"Our friend tells me that the mines have been liberated. We should have gold and silver flowing through Riften before long," Laila said. She'd received correspondence from Korir that very morning. Ravens had a wonderful way of travelling undetected.

"Wonderful," Maven said. She was about to ask Laila several questions about the minor runnings of the hold, but she was interrupted by a particularly wilful stall vendor.

"Jarl Laila, would you do me the pleasure of samplin' me wares? Free of charge o'course," said the cheery Nord behind the counter. Said counter was made up of a small iron vat above an oil heater, and an iron tray containing roasting chestnuts.

"I would be delighted to," Laila said, breaking away from Maven. "Might I ask your name?"

"Roggi Knot-Beard at your service, ma'am," he said, bowing to her. Maven hid a small smile at the buffoons name. The obvious cause of "Knot-Beard" being clearly present on his chin. Roggi shovelled a generous helping of chestnuts into a brown paper bag and shoved it into the arms of Laila Law-Giver. "Might I also offer you some home-brewed mead?" he said, pointing to the vat.

"What is this?" Maven asked, slowly creeping closer to the stall.

"Oh, don't worry Miss Black-Briar ma'am, I ain't wanting to compete with you. It's just a hobby, you see? Small thing out of my stall, nothing on your level," he said hurriedly. Everyone knew that Maven dealt with competition quickly and efficiently, usually at the cost of the competitors life, or the very least his reputation.

"I'll remind you to keep it that way. What is your opinion on my mead?" Maven asked slowly.

"I just sampled the "Black-Briar Mead: West" out of that brewery in Whiterun. It's not quite as good as the stuff that's made here, but it's a damn sight better than that Honningbrew piss that was made in that place before you took over," Roggi said with many nods and bows.

"I'm glad to hear it. May I?" she said, reaching out her hand, a look of malice in her eyes.

"Uh...yes, of course, Lady Black-Briar," Roggi said anxiously, pouring two mugs of ale and handing them to Laila and Maven. Maven slowly brought the mug to her lips and took a long draught. She put the mug down on the counter and smiled a mean smile.

"You're right, Roggi, this is nowhere near my level. Choose a new hobby," she said, grabbing Laila by the arm and leading her away towards the centre of the market.

"Was that necessary, Maven?" Laila said, biting into a chestnut.

"Yes. One of two things will come from that. He will either give up, eliminating potential competition, or he'll work even harder and produce a decent mead. That will allow me to buy him out and acquire a new recipe."

"Always the glint of coin in your eyes," Laila said, laughing. "That's what makes you a good ally."

"More than you know," Maven said.

* * *

General Tullius sat picking at his nails around the Moot table in the Hall of Jarls. The last time he was in here, the Winterhold delegation had managed to escape imprisonment, starting a war. The other seats were filled with delegations from the other holds. This was no true Moot. Those were rare events indeed. To his left sat High Queen Elisif the Fair. Her face was ashen.

"I wish to make this quick, but this is an important meeting," she said. "I shall start with a few questions I have about the war effort. Nenya?"

"Yes, my Queen?" said the Altmer woman from Falkreath. She'd been the steward there since before Elisif was born, and Elisif wondered why she stayed in that pig's hole. Given that length of time, many ambitious Nords would've made themselves Thane or Steward one of the larger holds, or even to the High Queen herself.

"What shall honoured Falkreath be providing me? I have yet to see its men on the battlefield," said Elisif intimidatingly.

"The men are ready to march, but we are waiting for the construction of all catapults. Jarl Sidgeir is gifting you two dozen of them made from the finest Falkreath lumber along with 400 of his men," Nenya said with confidence. She'd dealt with nobility for too long to worry herself with nods and bows.

"When shall they leave?" said Elisif, observably pleased to see the Altmer again.

"Any day now. Falkreath is eager to serve their Queen."

"Good. Good. Even the mages can't defend against two dozen catapults. Anuriel?" Elisif smiled viciously. Riften had devoted nothing to her cause, and if Anuriel, the steward of Riften, did not produce any results, then the future will not look pretty for her city.

"My Queen," Anuriel bowed. The greying Bosmer was a master of politics. Many years in Thalmor occupied Valenwood had taught her many things.

"And what is Riften gifting to me and my cause?" Elisif said, waiting for her to slip.

"My Queen, I assure you that the court and citizenly of The Rift consider this war _our_ cause. We support you heart and soul and pray to The Eight for every victory," said Anuriel, smiling deeply at Elisif.

"Yet we have seen no soldiers or resources coming out of The Rift. Jarl Laila promised me support when she could. Would you care to explain this?"

"The situation is delicate, My Queen. Yes, Jarl Laila promised you support, but, as you said, it's only when she could. It's only been a matter of weeks since then, and her situation has not changed," Anuriel said, her redwood eyes trying to entice compassion from Elisif.

"This is not good enough, Anuriel. I need the support of every Jarl, or else I appear weak. I have no doubt that I could crush Winterhold without Laila's soldiers, but if she's exempt from fighting, then why should any other Jarl fight for me? No hold is without its troubles, Anuriel. Laila has no excuse for not pledging her armies to me." Elisif was starting to get angry now. Anureil stared her directly in the eyes, but the other stewards and delegates were beginning to get nervous. "Go back to Riften and tell her this. If she cannot muster her loyalty and her armies with it, then The Rift shall be branded an enemy of Skyrim!" she shouted, slamming her fist down on the table.

"High Queen Elisif, The Rift is no enemy of yours. I implore you to give us more time," Anuriel said.

"I wish I could, Anuriel, but there will be no weakness in my kingdom. As it always has been and always will be, if you are not with me, you are against me."

"But surely it would be easier on yourself, Skyrim and the war if you allowed Riften to sort their affairs. To wage a war against two holds could be devastating for you, your majesty," Anuriel said. Though she was adept at politics, she could not argue against such madness.

"Ha," laughed Elisif. "I would not need soldiers to attack Riften. By your actions, it is obvious that The Rift has nothing to offer Skyrim, therefore if that does not change soon then I shall commission economic sanctions on your entire hold. If Maven cannot sell her mead in Skyrim, then she will be bankrupt along with The Rift. If your mills and mines cannot export, then you will crumble. I have enough resources that losing Riften will not put a dent in my coffers." Elisif stopped her tirade for a few moments to stare down Anuriel. "I am sorry, but this is the way things are. We already have a second civil war on our hands. It's down to you to make sure it doesn't grow into something on the scale of the Stormcloak Rebellion." Elisif visually calmed and relaxed back into her seat.

"Yes...My Queen. I'll make sure to relay this to Jarl Laila." Anuriel mumbled and became silent.

"Good." Silence and tension encompassed the room. Elisif revelled in it. She had won her crown through guile and democracy, but she had kept it through fear. "Madena, would you mind answering some question?" Elisif said coolly.

"Y-yes, My Queen?" stuttered the middle-aged Breton woman draped in blue robes.

"Where were you at the siege of Fort Fellhammer?"

Madena's mouth gaped open slightly. She was the court wizard of The Pale and a pacifist. This had caused tension between her and Skald in the past, but now the tension had spread to Elisif. "I had no place on the battlefield, My Queen."

"No? Are you not a mage, Madena? Are we not fighting mages? It's my belief that you would've been a great benefit in that battle, perhaps won it, yet where were you?" Everyone in the room could see where this was going but were powerless to stop it.

"I was in Dawnstar, far away from the fight. You see, My Queen, I was in the Great War-"

"I don't care! You have failed me, Madena. Tell me, will it happen again?" Elisif said.

"Excuse me?" Madena said fearfully.

"Will you refuse to fight again?" Elisif said slowly.

"I-It's against my nature. I refuse to cause more death."

"Very well," Elisif said, forlornly looking away from Madena whilst beckoning to a nearby guard. The man was well trained. In one swift motion, he'd pulled out a dagger and dragged it across Madena's throat. The poor woman sputtered as she fell off her chair into a steadily growing pool of blood. Several women screamed.

"Let that be a lesson to The Pale that failure is not permitted, and let that be a message to the rest of you," Elisif said, her head turning to look round the room, and her eyes lingered on Anuriel. "Failure to comply will only lead to death and misery," Elisif said, calm as ever.

* * *

"How was that, Tullius?" Elisif asked, once again sitting in his study.

"You're no longer the naïve Imperial puppet that I put on the throne of Skyrim. You've grown into your power, but I'm not sure if that's a good thing. That was madness, Elisif. We all understand the grief you feel at losing two of your sons-"

"No, you don't, Tullius. Years of raising and feeding and loving thrown away by those magicians. I loved my sons more than I loved the husband that gave them to me," Elisif said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You still have a living son," said Tullius.

"Is that supposed to console me? He only serves to remind me of what I've lost. How many women can lose a husband and two sons and still rule a kingdom? I had an opportunity to bring my son's murderers to justice, and I took it."

"But you may well have turned three holds against you in the process," Tullius said.

"Three holds?" Elisif said raising her eyebrows.

"Do you think The Pale will take kindly to you murdering their mage? Who will they go to when they get sick? Who will they go to when the harsh winters hit and their wood won't burn? And let us not forget the clear messages you've sent to Winterhold and The Rift," Tullius said.

"The Pale and The Rift will remain loyal to me. They have too much to lose otherwise. Besides, Jarl Skald has already thrown away most of his armies. The Pale itself is till valuable, but I'm relying on Idgrod to reinforce what scant soldiers Skald has left," Elisif said, confident in her control.

"Their loyalty to you is starting to look tenuous. To begin with, it was easy for you to paint the picture of the noble queen fighting the savage rebels, but now it's looking more like righteous rebels rising up against a tyrant," Tullius said. He and The Empire would allow her to continue this war, but if she turned half of Skyrim against her then they would have no choice but to intervene.

"I admit my methods are harsh, but this is no façade. I am bringing murderers and traitors to justice." Elisif said forcefully. " But I will need a way to strengthen my standing with the nobles and the people."

"May I suggest using the Bard's College?" Tullius said.

"In what way?"

"The bards have access to every inn and tavern throughout Skyrim. If you were to cough up some gold for them then it would only be a matter of days before every Nord in Skyrim had heard songs of the savagery of Winterhold," Tullius said.

"I like that, Tullius. I knew there was a reason why I kept you as an advisor. Make the arrangements right away."

"Of course, Queen Elisif," Tullius said, bowing deeply. He breathed a sigh of relief as he marched from the room.

* * *

Aicantar skittered through the halls of his Dwemer museum, pieces of paper flying from the bound book clutched in his arms. His heavy boots thumped on the stone floor as he pounded his way past countless displays of Dwemer artefacts and machines. A Dwemer sphere loomed over him as he skidded around a corner straight into a Markarth guard. Both men fell to the ground in a flurry of papers.

"You stupid man," seethed Aicantar as he stumbled to his feet, stooping to pick up his dropped things.

"My apologies, Master Aicantar," bowed the guard, helping the Altmer.

"Where is my uncle?" asked Aicantar. "He sent a messenger saying he'd made a breakthrough!"

"Last I saw he was in his tower," said the guard, handing Aicantar a bundle of papers. Without response, the Altmer man grabbed them and continued running down the corridor.

Several twists and turns brought Aicantar onto the Wizard's Balcony, a small pathway that joined the Dwemer Museum and laboratories to his uncles tower. He stopped to look over a moonlit Markarth. Lights reflected off bronzed dwarven metal that made up every window, door and decoration in the city. Rivers and waterfalls snaked their way alongside stone streets, dividing the city. Aicantar looked to his right where the ever running smelters belched grey smoke into the sky, choking the mining district with its foul smell. He turned away from the sight and slid through a metal door at the base of a stone tower.

"Ah, nephew, you've arrived," said the ancient Altmer from atop a stone platform. A canvas sheet covered a towering object behind him. Calcelmo was draped in the same blue robes as his nephew. "I have something incredible to show you," he said, beckoning Aicantar to join him. Aicantar rushed up the stone steps and stood by his uncle, placing his papers on a stone table.

"What is it, uncle?" Aicantar said excitedly.

"We've done the impossible. Behold," said Calcelmo, ripping the sheet off of the object. Aicantar stumbled backwards at the sight. A dwarven centurion hissed steam from the boilers welded onto his back. A rotating red gem sat squarely in the centre of its chest. The machine was made entirely of the golden metal only the dwarves had ever created. Its face was shaped into the image of a great dwarven warrior, and all 25 foot of the impenetrable walking mass of armour loomed over Aicantar. Its left arm ended in a giant sword that was sharp enough to cut through any armour, but it was the right arm that Aicantar stared at. It ended in a deadly looking hammer, easily large enough to crush the Altmer in one blow. The hammer was raised above the machines head, and Aicantar squeezed his eyes shut as the centurion brought it down.

Several seconds passed, and Aicantar slowly opened his eyes to see the hammer inches away from his face. With the sound of an earthquake and a loud hiss of steam, the centurion shuffled back into a neutral position, both weapons at its side.

"Isn't it impressive?" Calcelmo said, helping his nephew to his feet.

"You made it stop attacking me?" he managed to stumble out, glancing at the staff in his uncles hand. It was made of the same dwarven metal, and at the tip sat a gem the same colour as the one in the centurions chest.

"As long as I wield this staff, it will do exactly as I say. We've done it, Aicantar."

Aicantar slowly walked towards the inactivate centurion and gingerly pressed his hand to its leg, smiling at the warmth that radiated from it.

"This is incredible. How many?" he said, turning his head to look at his uncle.

"Only the one, but we'll be able to condition the rest in a matter of days."

"Combine them with the spheres and spiders we've already tamed, then we'll have a full dwarven army," beamed Aicantar.

"Elisif will be pleased."


	14. Fourteen

Jarl Korir stood on the steps leading to the Longhouse. Kai stood watchfully on his left, and Thaena was on his right. The citizens of Winterhold lined the streets cheering and applauding. Along the cobbled road that ran through the city carts of silver and gold trundled along, pulled by heavy set Skyrim horses. A battalion of Winterhold guards accompanied the carts, smiling and waving at the cheering citizens. The carts finally stopped in a group outside the Longhouse, a dozen in total. Three of gold and nine of silver.

"Citizens of Winterhold, the siege on Fort Fellhammer has been broken," Jarl Korir shouted above the crowd, clutching a piece of white paper in his hands. At these words, the crowd of thousands of people screamed even louder. Korir raised his hand for silence. "These carts here are how we'll save our little hold." A horn blasted across Winterhold, and the wooden gates in the wall slowly opened. Through them poured even more carts, glittering with gold. "Ah, right on time. These, ladies and gentlemen, are the carts from Whistling Mine. Three carts of gold, if I'm not mistaken. Soldiers, get this gold and silver into the Longhouse."

* * *

Malur stood in the centre of the treasury, a notepad in hand. He hurriedly scribbled down calculations and measurements. Surrounding him were piles of glittering metals. These weren't the treasury halls of Solitude or Whiterun, but there was more wealth in here than Winterhold had seen in a long time.

"How much do we have?" Korir asked, strolling through the door.

"64 pounds o' gold and 192 o' silver."

Korir smiled at this and gazed around the neat pyramids of metal. "How much is it all worth?"

"Well, tha' all depends how much we sell it for. Markarth sells their gold for 330 Septims a pound and silver at 165. To insure we take all o' their clients, we'll need to sell at 80% o' that at the highest," Malur said, flicking through his notes.

"Giving us a profit of..." Korir said, tapping his foot.

"42, 240 Septims, assuming gold is sold at 264 Septims and silver at 132."

Korir whistled through his teeth, and his eyes were wide open with shock. "Are you sure?"

"I've checked and re-checked the figures. It all adds up," Malur said.

"That Brelyna girl is a smart lass. Maybe a thaneship is in order."

"Jarl Korir, as pleased as I am that we finally 'ave some coin, it's a lo' less than we need. We're still poorer than all the other holds excep' Hjaalmarch."

"But it's something, and more precious metals will come. Malur, this is the most money I've seen throughout my whole reign."

"Well, we'll need to decide wha' to spend it on."

"Arms and armour first. We've got some iron from the mines as well, and that will come in handy."

"What about the enchantments the old man spoke abou'?" Malur said.

"Well remembered. Yes, we'll put some money into that. Food is also a priority. Our stores are running low, and I don't want our people to go hungry. Come, Malur, let's pay a visit to the College. They may have some ideas."

* * *

"Fornice, you better explain this immediately." Korir stood in the doorway of Fornice's quarters, flanked by Kai, Malur and Thaena. Fornice and Colette were frozen, bent over Mirtil. Colette held a rack containing tubes of blood. "Fornice."

"Jarl Korir, please be calm," Fornice said, slowly standing up.

"There is a vicious creature in your quarters. Its kind have been seen all over town, and here you are playing hostess? Did you release them as a plague upon my city?"

"How dare you make accusations?" Fornice said, waving a bloody rag at Korir.

"Then explain yourself!" Korir boomed, swatting the rag away.

"Mirtil came to me asking for help. I was about to leave to tell you about this."

"How do you know her name?" Korir asked, shooting daggers at Mirtil who stood stunned throughout the argument. Kai remained at Korir's side, but Thaena inched closer to the women, curiosity on her face.

"She can talk, Korir," Fornice said slowly.

"Don't be ridiculous. They're beasts, Fornice. My guards have waged war against these creatures for decades-"

"Beasts? We...stay in our tunnels...and when your men...come...too close, we...defend ourselves," Mirtil rasped.

Korir chocked in shock. His mouth gaped open like a fish.

"Lost for words, dear? Well done, Mirtil. That doesn't happen often," Thaena said, apparently non-phased by Mirtil's speech.

"Queen Mirtil," the Falmer said.

"Queen? Korir, dear, they have speech and a monarchy. Throw in some better clothes, and they're not much different from us," Thaena said, clutching onto her husband's arm.

"Enough!" Korir shouted, pulling his arm away. "Undoubtedly, they are more cultured than we thought, but look at it. It's a monster still; a blind and ugly monster who's killed too many men for me to ignore," he said, drawing his sword.

Fornice diplomatically stepped between Korir and Mirtil. "That's what we're trying to fix. If we can restore the Falmer's sight then we are promised their soldiers. These are soldiers we desperately need."

Korir hesitated. "She's a beast-"

"She's an ally. We are trying to help her, and she is trying to help us," Thaena said, grabbing Korir's sword hand.

"How many soldiers is she offering?" Korir said quickly.

Everyone turned to face Mirtil who promptly replied, "1000."

Everyone whipped their heads around to face Jarl Korir. "1000? That would help our cause, but the men would never tolerate it. I don't know if I could tolerate it."

"Korir, if we can restore their sight, and hopefully other things such as their posture, face and voice, they will no longer be the monsters we fear. They will be people again, and the men can accept people in our army," Fornice said softly.

"They would, aye, and I would be more inclined to accept them if they look normal. I'll tell you this, Fornice; don't bother restoring their sight. Unless you can fix everything, they cannot be part of our fight." With that, Korir marched towards the door followed by Kai.

"Korir, dear, don't wait up for me. I need to have a few words with the Arch-Mage," Thaena said, swishing her white hair. Korir nodded and left the room.

"Well, this is fascinating. Would you ladies like to show me what you've been working on?" Thaena said with childlike excitement. She threw off her white fur coat and began to roll up the sleeves of her green dress.

"You'd like to help?" Colette asked nervously.

"Why of course. I'm stuck inside the Longhouse too often, and this is something I can get stuck into. Besides, it's a chance for us ladies to become better acquainted," Thaena said, clasping her hands together with a broad smile.

"Does...That include...me?" Mirtil asked curiously, sensing the obvious air of authority given off by Thaena.

"Of course, my dear. It's so rare that we receive royalty here in Winterhold. It would be an insult if I did not assist our dear Arch-Mages' efforts in one way or another," Thaena said, picking up tinctures and vials from the already cluttered work table.

"I like her," Mirtil said with a sharp grin.

"Thaena, how exactly do you intend to help?" asked Colette.

"I know the basics of alchemy. Any simple potions or poultices you need, I'll be able to whip them up in a flash," Thaena said already crushing together blue mountain flowers and butterfly wings in a mortar and pestle.

"How did you learn alchemy?" asked Colette.

"We all have our hobbies, Colette," said Thaena not looking up from her work.

"How did you know my name?" Colette said, putting down and the rack of vials and instead put her hands on her hips.

"I know everyone's name, oh Master of Restoration and grandest healer in all of Skyrim," said Thaena.

"Being the wife of Jarl Korir, you must have a lot of duties," said Fornice.

"Surprisingly I don't. We were not a noteworthy or wealthy hold, so I had very little to do, hence the alchemy. Though if Korir were to die I would be Jarl Regent until my son, Assur, comes of age. Divines forbid that Korir sees an early grave, however he is waging a war," Thaena said whilst pausing her potion making for a brief moment.

"He's not on the front line, Thaena," Fornice said reassuringly.

"He'll have to go there at some point. My husband is no coward, so when it's time for him to fight, he'll fight. There's also the ever present risk of assassins."

"He'll be fine. He has those thieves watching his back, as well as Kai and the rest of his guards. I doubt Elisif herself is so well protected," Fornice said.

Thaena smiled at Fornice. "We should have become friends sooner, dearest Arch-Mage."

* * *

Jarl Korir threw open the door of the Longhouse and marched over to the fire to warm his hands. The two thieves stood at either side of the throne, and Kai followed closely behind Korir. "Malur, is there anything else I need to deal with?" he asked the steward who sat reading a book near the door.

"Only a couple o' things. There's a storm cloud headin' towards us from the Sea of Ghosts, so be prepared for that."

"Noted. What else?" Korir asked, sitting on his throne.

"Um, I'm glad you're sittin' for this one. A letter came with the convoy of metals. I'm sorry to say this, but Captain Rolf was executed by the enemy." Korir stared at Malur for several moments before leaning forward in his chair and putting his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," said the steward.

"It was inevitable that we'd lose some people along the way, but Rolf was a good man. Is his body being returned to Winterhold?"

"They burnt him along with the rest o' the dead. Faralda is leading the attack on Fort Dunstad."

"Does she have enough men?" Korir asked.

"That's deba'able. She's taking 450 men from the western forts which include converted Pale soldiers. She gave the captured soldiers an ultimatum; figh' for us or die. They chose the former. She's keeping a close eye on them. If they prove themselves at Fort Dunstand against their brothers-in-arms, then she says she'll consider 'em trustworthy, and that gives us a few dozen more men," Malur said, glancing down at the letter he'd pulled from his coat.

"Smart woman. Keep me updated on the events, and make sure I receive a list of the dead," Korir said, rising from his throne.

"Yes, m'jarl. Where are you going?"

"To see Dagur at the inn. I can't toast our late captain without a drink in my hand," Korir said, heading towards the door. He beckoned for Kai to follow him out the Longhouse.

* * *

"What's the report, Irontooth?" Faralda asked as the burly Orc approached her position. Faralda's mages and the soldiers from Fort Fellhammer had made a makeshift camp in the forest outside of Fort Dunstad. Irontooth had organised a scouting mission which had just returned.

"The forces from Dawnstar and Morthal have taken positions inside and outside the fortress, and they're roughly the same size as our force."

"Then with my mages we should have no problem," Faralda said smugly.

"Perhaps more caution is required. There's two catapults inside the fort and Morthal might have sent their court wizard," Irontooth said.

"Falion. He's a great conjurer indeed. Phinis trained under him," Faralda informed Iorntooth.

"Then we best be careful."

"What of the fort itself?"

"It's split into two sections; a stone section made up of a courtyard and two towers, and a wooden stockade which mirrors the keep proper. It's complete with two wooden watch towers and fully encompasses the road," Irontooth said, diligently listing off his report. "Ma'am if I may, was it wise to pull the soldiers out of the Western Forts? Won't that leave Winterhold vulnerable?"

"Yes it would, if there was anyone to take advantage of it," Faralda said.

"Ma'am?"

"Dawnstar hasn't got a sword left in the whole city, so even if they did launch an attack, the soldiers we left behind would easily repel them."

"What of the other holds?"

"The next hold on is Hjaalmarch, and guess where their soldiers are," Faralda said, nodding in the direction of Fort Dunstad. "From your report it's obvious they've left some reserve in the city, but they're likely to stay there in case of attack. Any other hold would need to use the road that runs through Fort Dunstad to get to Winterhold. If that happens we'll retreat from the attack and rearm the forts." Faralda was quite enjoying her time at war. She had quite the taste for tactics.

"Very good, ma'am. When do we march on Dunstad?" Irontooth said, ready to finish off Jod once and for all.

Faralda looked up at the midday sun that glinted between the branches of the pine trees. "Now."

* * *

Faralda marched confidently along the frozen cobbled road towards Fort Dunstad. Her army marched behind her, walking along the road as well as the snow covered banks on either side. Armoured soldiers and colourful mages mingled together as one. The pale blue armour of the soldiers matched the pale blue mage's robes that were donned by all but the most senior mages. Faralda looked imposing in her deep purple robes, a show of her mastery in Destruction. To her left walked Irontooth, stoic in his iron armour. She smiled at the Orc who only pointed at Fort Dunsatd in response. It was nearer than she'd thought, and she could see clearly what they were up against. The dull greens and greys of Morthal and Dawnstar merged together into a great wall against Winterhold. They stood in neat platoons, shadowed by the walls of the fort. Archers lined the walls of stone and wooden watchtowers.

There was silence as Faralda held up her hand to motion for her army to stop 300 feet from the enemy lines. Nothing moved as the two armies stared at each other. Not a sound was heard as anticipation rippled its way through both sides.

Faralda cleared her throat and shouted across to the enemy, "This is your only chance. Submit and live, or fight and die. These are your only options." Her voiced echoed across the distance, and it boomed into the ears of the enemy. Nothing happened for several moments, but a commotion at the front-centre caught her eye. From the crowds of men, Commander Jod stepped out. Irontooth hissed through his teeth, but Faralda quietened him with a touch of her hand.

"Then where are my soldiers you captured, witch?" Jod boomed back. Each and every soldier held their breath.

"They chose the first option, Jod. They submitted, and they lived," Faralda cooed.

"Then where _are they_?" Jod screamed, his voice piercing across the snow.

Faralda hesitated for a moment. Clearly they had broken Jod, and a mad dog was a dangerous one. "They're right here," Faralda said decidedly. She beckoned the men she had gathered to stand next to her, and one by one soldiers began to push through the crowd to stand by her side. Noise began to gather on the other side of the field as soldiers from The Pale began to recognise neighbours and friends and were outraged at the sight of them in Winterhold armour.

"Traitors!"

"Scum!"

The same kind of insults were hurled across to the soldiers who now shuffled about uncomfortably.

"Stop!" shouted Jod. "They are obviously under some kind of wicked spell."

"That's absurd-" Faralda tried to say.

"Do not let her speak. She will try to cast the spell on you. If you want to free your brothers-in-arms, then remove her head from her shoulders," Jod said, pointing his war axe at Faralda who now clung to Irontooth. The enemy unsheathed their weapons and readied for the attack, grimaces of hatred on their face. The Winterhold soldiers did the same, but they did not hate their enemies.

"On my signal," Faralda said, waiting for the inevitable.

"Charge!" shouted Jod, raising his axe into the air, and the horde of soldiers rushed past him and straight at the Winterhold army.

"Hold it," Faralda said, watching the wave of green and grey rush closer like a rock slide. The air was torn with battle cries, and the soldiers next to her looked nervous. The enemy had closed a quarter of the distance when Faralda made her move. "Now!"

The Winterhold soldiers did not need telling again. They charged towards the approaching lines, ex-Pale on the front line. Their war cries muddled with the enemies into a deafening shout that shook snow from the trees.

The catapults atop the fort fired at the approaching army tearing two gashes in the sea of blue. Archers released their arrows as soon as Faralda's army was in range felling several more, but the wave kept coming, and they had their own weapons in return.

Several Destruction mages halted their advance and crouched on one knee. They aimed carefully with their hands. A red heat glowed from them. This quickly sprang into roaring fires, and when they were satisfied the mages released huge fireballs at the fort. The spells exploded along the walls burning away many archers in smoke and screams.

Faralda ran forward at the head of the army, Irontooth pounding along beside her. Commander Jod was lost to them for the moment, but they were both willing to cut their way to him.

As the oceans reached land, so too did Winterhold meet Skyrim. The wave buckled as the two armies collided, and the colours of land and sea swam together with the clash of steel and the screams of the dying.

Irontooth charged through ranks of soldiers, hoisting them in the air with his hammer or swinging it wildly at any in his way. The catapults fired again, crushing many soldiers and spraying Irontooth with dirt and snow, but he did not stop his charge until he'd reached the very edge of Winterhold's reach. This far into the enemy lines only peeks of blue could be seen through green and grey, but Irontooth was not scared yet. He attacked and parried with a fury famous of the Orcs, and soon a swelling circle of bodies littered the ground around him. Fireballs flew over his head and collided with the wooden stockade, sending one of the watch towers crashing to the ground in a blast of sparks and fire.

Faralda indiscriminately burnt, froze or electrocuted her enemies with a light touch. Any who got near her had very little time to live. She grouped together with some of her students, and together they burnt a swathe through the enemy lines. Any man foolish enough to to charge at them or try and run past was incinerated in streams of fire.

The Winterhold army slowly pushed the Skyrim army back towards Fort Dunstad. Though they took heavy casualties from the catapults, the enemy fared worse from the fireballs. Eventually, Faralda caught up with Irontooth.

"You've done well," Faralda said, noticing the pile of bodies around the battered Orc. Irontooth snorted and wiped his face of gore. For all Faralda could see Irontooth was an animal.

"Where's Jod?" he grunted out.

"I don't know. He might already be dead, but that's unlikely. He wasn't named Commander of Dawnstar for nothing," Faralda said. A soldier charged at her with his sword drawn, but she threw him aside with a lightning bolt.

"We need to find him. We can end this if we do," Irontooth said while hefting his hammer out of the caved ribs of a dead soldier.

"Go find him. I'll do the same," Faralda said. Irontooth nodded and turned away from her. "Oh, and Irontooth." He turned around. "Stay safe."

"You too, ma'am," he said with a salute, and both parties went their separate ways once more.

Commander Jod heaved his axe out of the back of a mage with a grunt. "Stupid bitch," he said and swung his axe to parry a sword stroke from a soldier before knocking the sword away and planting his axe into the man's chest. He kicked the man away freeing his axe and looked around for his next target.

"You," he shouted, spotting a tall Altmer woman in purple robes. "You damn Elf. You took my fortress," he said, walking towards her. Faralda now stared directly at Jod but was rooted to the spot, even as a rock fired from a catapult landed directly behind her crushing two of her entourage. The others scattered, lost amongst the armies.

"It's all part of playing war, Jod," she said, finding her voice.

"So is this," he shouted, and his walk turned into a run. Faralda instinctively threw a firebolt at him, but firebolts were slow, and Jod grabbed a shield from the floor and deflected it away. His run was picking up speed, and Faralda desperately threw spells at him, but they were all dodged or repelled. He was right on top of her, and time slowed down to a halt. In a split second she saw his bloody beard spray gore as he roared with a gaping mouth. She saw his axe, red with blood, and his scarred shield come towards her. Both could kill her in a second.

But she would not allow that. In the last moment Faralda ducked to the floor just as Jod swung his axe. She leapt up again with a staff in hand. The dead apprentice she took it from would not need it any longer. Jod swiveled round, his axe extended, but she caught it on her staff and threw it aside. They both stood circling each other, weapons held in front of them. He spun his axe and leapt at her. She blocked the blow with the staff and blasted him away with a gout of fire. He lay on the ground smouldering whilst she walked over to him. He lay unmoving in the slush and mud. She took tentative steps over to him staff pointed out in front of her, and she gently jabbed his chest with it. He did not move. Faralda smirked and slammed her staff into the ground. This is what Jod was waiting for. He kicked out at her legs, sending her tumbling to the ground. He leapt to his feet, kicked her staff away and planted his foot on her chest. She tried to cast another spell, but he dug the point of his axe into her hand, causing her to scream out in pain. Blood welled from her palm, but Jod only gritted his teeth and dug deeper. Without warning he wrenched the axe out and raised it above his head for the final strike.

"Stupid bitch," he muttered and brought his axe down.

Irontooth collided into Jod, knocking both men to the ground. Faralda gasped as the axe missed her by an inch. Jod jumped to his feet, hoisting his axe and shield in front of him. Irontooth struggled to his feet, weighed down by his heavy armour and hammer. Jod smirked at the Orc and tried to score a blow, but he was parried away just in time. Irontooth stared at him intently, twisting his hands around his hammer. Jod looked like he was about to go in for the attack, but Irontooth held up his hand. Jod stopped and furrowed his brow. Slowly, Irontooth unbuckled his gauntlet and threw it to the ground. Jod paused for a time, staring at the gauntlet, occasionally glancing up at Irontooth, but he did what the Orc knew he would. No Nord would risk his honour for his life, so Jod picked up the gauntlet and tucked it into his belt before pulling out a horn. Without breaking eye contact with Irontooth, he blew the horn three times sending three short blasts across the battlefield. His men were well trained. Without hesitation they broke away from their fights and turned to face the source of the noise. This prompted Irontooth's men to do the same, and the Orc raised his hammer in the air to confirm the order for a ceasefire. The onlookers formed a wide ring around the two men who continued to stare at each other. Faralda stood at the edge of the ring, fire flickering in between her twitching fingers, but even she knew the ways of warriors. To intervene would dishonour Irontooth and cost him the duel.

"This is how you wanna play it? Fine," spat Jod, and he charged at Irontooth shield first. The Orc could only glimpse the fortress insignia of Dawnstar before stepping aside, but Jod wheeled around, axe outstretched, but Irontooth caught the blow on his hammer. The two men were now on opposite sides of the ring.

"It's a shame that mage didn't score a better hit," said Irontooth, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Jod tenderly put a hand to his burnt face and contorted his mouth into a snarl.

"It's a shame I didn't kill you as well as your captain," he spat. Irontooth froze for a moment, but all the rage he felt burst to the surface. With two long strides he was in reach of Jod and swung his hammer with both hands. Jod raised his shield in a quick defence, but the wood shattered and splintered. He cried out in pain as his wrist broke with the shield, but he dropped the twisted ring of metal and raised the axe which remained firm in his right hand. He lunged at Irontooth who parried the blow, but his axe kept coming, forcing the Orc backwards. Eventually Irontooth failed to block one of the blows, and the axe embedded itself in his iron armour. He grunted in pain as the sharp steel cut through the skin and muscle and grazed his ribs. Jod pulled the axe free and swung at Irontooth's legs who jumped back instinctively but lost his footing. He stumbled back for a moment before treading on the sword of a dead soldier, and he came crashing to the ground. He struggled to get up in his heavy iron armour, but Jod planted a foot on his chest and kicked him back to the ground. Jod kept his foot firmly on Irontooth's chest and raised his axe high above his head. Irontooth tried to reach his hammer, but his fingers could only brush it. The arena was silent as Jod stood over the fallen warrior. Faralda's agitated fingers twitched with magic, but she was still torn about whether to step in or keep to the code of honour.

"Rot in Oblivion, Orc," Jod grinned.

"Not before you," Irontooth said, finally wrapping his fingers around his hammer. He swung it round and grinned as it collided with the side of Jod's face. The man fell next to Irontooth who scrambled up and without missing a beat swung his hammer down onto Jod's face. Again and again. When he finally stopped, blood covered every inch of his body and weapon, and he gulped in deep breaths as he dropped his hammer to the ground.

* * *

Faralda paced slowly along the lines of chained soldiers outside Fort Dunstad. After the duel, most soldiers immediately surrendered. There were pockets of resistance, but those were quelled quickly. She now had the duty of deciding the fate of her 300 prisoners. She clasped her bandaged hand and paced the lines with swaying hips.

"Are there any captains among you?" she asked finally after several minutes of the soldiers watching her in a fearful silence. Several men slowly raised their hands, and Faralda nodded in return, resuming her pacing. "I have a problem that I'd like you to help me with. I have 300 hundred prisoners that I have no use for and no space for either."

"What about the bargain you struck with the soldiers at Fort Fellhammer?" piped up one of the captains.

"Do you think I would let 400 hundred enemy soldiers into my army? There would be a coup before the chains had fallen from your wrists. They were a show, a way to make Winterhold looker kinder than Skyrim, and they serve their purpose wonderfully. You, however, will not get that privilege."

"What are you going to do with us?" asked the same captain forlornly. Faralda stared him dead in the eye as she stopped in front of him. He instantly looked away from her intimidating glare. On an unknown cue, her students began to gather along the lines of prisoners.

"Untie him as well as three of his soldiers and three from Morthal," she said to the students on her right. They dutifully untied him and the soldiers from the posts, but their hands and feet were still shackled.

"What of the rest of us?" asked a man near to Faralda. She walked over, crouched down and gently his cupped his face in her uninjured hand.

"You tragically died in the battle," she said before kissing his forehead. She turned away and walked towards the keep. The heat of fire, the smell of smoke and the screams of the burning lingered behind her.

* * *

"I've found it! I've found the spell," blurted out Colette from her table of research. She pulled out a worn brown tome from the table, knocking several other books to the floor. "It's an old spell from Blackmarsh. I thought with the Argonians resistance to poison, any toxin which might effect them would have to be immensely strong. It stood to reason, therefore, that any spell they had to combat it would have to be equally as powerful. Not only will this spell destroy the poison, but it's designed to heal any physical damage done by it. According to the book the spell was designed after Argonians started to be bitten by snakes who's venom could melt flesh," she said, waving the book in the air, causing several pages to fall at her feet. The other women ran to her side.

"Do you think you can perform it?" asked Thaena.

"I can give it a good try," Colette said looking between Thaena and Mirtil.

"Just please...try," said Mirtil. She was drained from the tests that had been performed on her, and she was ready to give up.

"Okay. Fornice, Thaena, I'll need you to stand back. I'm not sure what else this spell might do." The women obliged and shuffled to the steps of the alchemy garden, leaving the main space in the room free for Mirtil and Colette.

Colette put the book at her feet and stood up tall, bouncing from foot to foot. Mirtil stood hunched over anxiously on the other side of the space. Colette raised her hands up and conjured forth veined tendrils of white and gold that swam around her. Fornice and Thaena stood mesmerised at the colours of Restoration. Even with Fornice's experience of magic, the warmth of healing never ceased to amaze her. It felt comforting, homely. It felt safe.

It changed.

In the blink of an eye a cold, sharp blue joined the colours, and Fornice had a distinct feeling that it did not belong.

"Don't worry, this is normal. It's not the traditional Restoration, but it should work. Mirtil, are you ready?" The Falmer only nodded in response. Colette braced herself and pushed her hands forward. The spell glided across the room, spinning and rippling until it hit Mirtil, and the spell began to surround her. One by the one the lights began to cling to her. Tendrils of blue, white and gold stuck out of her, waving in some ethereal wind. Soon all Mirtil had become was a glowing mass of light, and Thaena and Fornice turned their heads away as the spell reached a climax.

And then it was gone.

"I don't understand," Colette said as an unchanged Mirtil stood before her. "I felt it. I felt it work. It should have worked."

"I felt...it too. I felt...my body start...to change," Mirtil said, obviously frustrated.

"That's a lot you're trying to change at once," piped in Fornice. "Perhaps you need more power." Suddenly her eyes widened, and she ran over to her desk only to quickly run back with a silver goblet in hand. "Next time you try the spell, channel it through this," she said whilst pulling out the dragon tear.

"You think it will work?" Colette asked hesitantly.

"It's worth a try."

"I don't think I have enough Magicka," said Colette.

"Leave that to me," Thaena said and turned back to her alchemy table.

"Mirtil, are you willing to give it another try?" Fornice asked sensitively.

Mirtil did not respond for a short while, but she slowly nodded. "One last time."

* * *

Irontooth stood facing Faralda in the captain's quarters of Fort Dunstad. She leaned back in a wooden chair with her feet on a desk.

"Ma'am, we've cleared what remained of the dead from the courtyard. The prisoners are safely locked away. We've captured the enemies stores which are quite surmountable. The soldiers are being housed, and we've reopened the inn."

"The inn?"

"The Stumbling Sabrecat. It's within the stockade. We found the bartender and his wife hiding in there, and they've agreed to work for us."

"Well, Jarl Skald knew how to treat his men well," Faralda said with a laugh. "What of reinforcing the fort?"

"The stockade is badly damaged and will take some time to repair. This leaves us with a limited ability to guard the road, however the main fort remains strong, so we still have a good position," Irontooth listed.

"Make sure its repaired as fast as possible. And the men?"

"Of the 400 that we brought to Fort Dunstad we still have 250. They're taking a moment to rest. In between what happened at Fort Fellhammer, the march here and the battle, they've earned it."

"250? 700 were sent to the western forts at the start of this war. How do we have so few?" Faralda said, sitting up in her chair and taking her feet off the desk.

"100 are still stationed at the forts, but we lost many men at Fort Fellhammer and at the battle here. We have still 70 of your mages which will still give us the edge against other forces."

"Mages will only get us so far. They still need food and rest like any soldier. It'll be difficult to wage a war on the western front with 250 soldiers."

"There are no reinforcements, ma'am. Every soldier is either here or at Fort Kastav. We should retreat back to Fort Fellhammer. We're vulnerable from attack by the southern holds, and we still need to defend Winterhold. As it is there's nothing stopping Solitude or what's left of Morthal marching right through us," Irontooth implored.

"150 soldiers did not die so that we could retreat to Fellhammer. Dunstad will help us defend against the other holds, and so will the 100 soldiers at the forts. Besides, our work here isn't done," Faralda said, tapping at her desk.

"Ma'am?"

"We've taken Fort Dunstad, yes. It's a great victory, but there's a bigger prize."

"Ma'am, we can't do it. We'll be spread too thin!" Irontooth said.

"We leave 150 soldiers and half my mages here. We take the rest up north, and we can march into Dawnstar without so much as a stone thrown at us. We've killed them all, Irontooth, and Elisif won't be able to get reinforcements there in time," Faralda said, clutching the desk and leaning forward.

"There are a lot of risks. So many things are uncertain."

"Isn't that how war goes? Irontooth, if we take Dawnstar then we control The Pale. Only then can we be safe on the western border. The Pale will be the perfect buffer against any army."

"If taking Dawnstar means spreading us too thin then we'll lose the entire western front. We can't do this," Irontooth said, slamming his fist on the table.

"You may be the de facto Captain of Winterhold on the western front, but I have been Master of Destruction for decades. You are my subordinate," Faralda said, slowly rising from her chair.

"I know, ma'am-"

"Good. Then you will follow my orders," Faralda said, walking around the desk to stand in front of Irontooth. He held his hands behind his back and pointed his chin to the ground. He tried to remain composed in spite of his emotions. Faralda tucked a long finger under his chin and gently pushed his head up to look her in the eyes. "You will follow my orders?"

"Yes, ma'am," Irontooth said quietly. Faralda nodded and slid her hand away from his face and down his chest before turning away and walking back towards her desk. "Ma'am?" Irontooth said quickly, prompting Faralda to wheel around. "Decades?"

"I've worked at the college for 76 years," Faralda said with a smile.

"76? So you're close to 100?" Irontooth said obviously shocked. To him Faralda didn't look older than 30.

"No, dear," Faralda said whilst perching on the corner of her desk. "I'm 803."

* * *

Colette and Mirtil had resumed their positions on opposite ends of the room. Mirtil looked more drained than ever before, but she clenched her fists and pulled her bony arms into her chest. She was ready. Colette drained the last few drops of a Magicka potion and dropped the bottle into the small sink next to the alchemy laboratory. She hated using Magicka potions, but she knew they were sometimes necessary. The potions were bitter like sloe berries and also highly addictive. She'd been brought many mages that were addicted to the potions, and the healing process was slow and arduous.

"Colette, are you ready?" Fornice asked. Colette nodded.

"Mirtil?" Thaena asked the Falmer.

"Yes," she spat, her faced screwed in determination.

Colette picked up the freezing tear between her thumb and forefinger and held out her arm towards Mirtil. She gathered the same spell as before, feeling the magic swell around her like a warm breeze. She squinted her eyes, carefully aiming through the tear. Mirtil was a blurred white streak when she released the spell, and it was nothing like before. Instantly the lights converged into the tear. The ice glowed, melted and bubbled. Mirtil backed away from Colette, but the spell had been cast. With a sound that shook the room, the spell jumped from the now vaporised tear onto Mirtil who was thrown to the ground. Her body shook and convulsed as the lights surrounded her once more, but the hues were deeper and brighter, and the entire room glowed with the white sun that had appeared. Thaena and Fornice squeezed their eyes shut and ducked away, shielding themselves from the ever growing light. Colette stared on. She squinted as the light burned her eyes, but she could not bring herself to look away.

"Colette!" Thaena screamed. "This can't be right. End the spell," and she clutched onto Fornice as the room turned white.

Suddenly it was over. The light faded to nothing, and Thaena and Fornice slowly turned to face the room. Colette stood there blinking rapidly, but otherwise she didn't move.

"Are you okay?" Fornice asked whilst approaching her.

"I-I think so. My eyes are filled with colour, but it's fading. I should have looked away," Colette said while squeezing her eyes shut and opening them wide. "What about Mirtil?"

The three women turned to face Mirtil and gasped. Picking herself up from the floor was not the creature that had landed on it. Her dry, stretched skin was now full and smooth and the brightest snow white. Her back was no longer hunched and twisted, but now Mirtil stood tall and regal. Her ears were not tattered and drooping but hugged the side of her angular face. Her once matted hair now flowed to her waist and almost glowed with white light. A thin nose had sprung from her face, and...

"Her eyes," Fornice whispered. A set of pale blue, crystal eyes sat neatly in their sockets that moments before were bloody and red. They swivelled round taking in every detail of the room. Mirtil drew a small smile that grew and grew until her face was wrinkled with joy. Her teeth had receded into her soft jaw and were no longer needled but healthy, straight teeth.

"Ladies, we are truly in the presence of royalty," Thaena said and bowed deeply. Fornice and Colette joined her, and the four women began laughing. It had hit them what a momentous task they had achieved. They had turned a twisted creature into a race that hadn't graced Skyrim in millennia. They had started a new age for the Snow Elves.

"It worked. It really worked. You have accomplished what no one thought was possible," sang Mirtil in a new and royal voice. Thaena could see why she was queen.

"I can hardly believe it," whispered Colette in shock as Mirtil patted and stared at every inch of her body.

"Is this really what we wear? It's so barbaric," said Mirtil, clutching at the black chitin with delicate hands.

"We will find you something suitable, but in the meantime this will have to do," said Thaena, grabbing her white fur coat and wrapping around Mirtil. "We have all become part of history today."

"How do you feel?" asked Fornice.

"I... feel ethereal. I am born anew from magic, and it is better than I ever could've hoped, and I never want to taste a mushroom again," Mirtil added with a laugh. Her laugh grew louder, and she began to skip and twirl around the room. Her hair fanned out in front of her, and the women were amazed at Mirtil's grace. "I had almost forgotten what this was like. It's been so long," she said.

"You were alive when the Snow Elves still ruled Skyrim?" Fornice asked amazed.

"Oh, yes! I was Falmer royalty. Not quite queen, but princess of the Snow Elves. It was a dark time, and the Falmer have seen darker times since, but thanks to you." Mirtil bowed to Colette. "We have hope."

"Our work isn't done yet," said Colette.

"No, but we can revel in this victory. You and I will leave for Blackreach tomorrow. I will hold up my end of the bargain gladly, and if you can reproduce these results with the others, then the Falmer will be eternal friends to the College of Winterhold," Mirtil said, resuming her tall posture.

"You will give us the 1000 soldiers?" Fornice asked.

"Arch-Mage, if Colette can heal my people, I will give you so much more than soldiers."


	15. Fifteen

Colette breathed deeply as she stood in the frozen courtyard of the College of Winterhold. The sky glowed orange from a nearly risen sun, and not a cloud could be seen. She studied the sky closer and saw that she was wrong. A grey mass gathered on the horizon, but the snow storm was no threat to her now. In fact, she felt as if nothing could threaten her. The previous night it was her who had made history, and her greatest work was yet to come. She was to travel to Blackreach and somehow heal the Falmer race. How she would do so was yet undecided, but her excitement could hardly be contained.

"Colette, this will be a long journey. Do you have everything you need?" asked Fornice kindly, smiling at her old friend.

"I believe so," Colette said, beaming at the morning light. Her flat nose crinkled with glee, and she was barely paying attention to Fornice's words.

"The horses are saddled and ready to go when you're ready, and the others are in the place," Fornice said, guiding the Breton the woman along the tiled path.

"The others?"

"The two Battlemages I've sent with you," Fornice explained for the third time. She really couldn't blame Colette for her dreaminess, but it didn't make things easy.

"Oh...yes, of course. Are you sure you can spare them?" Colette asked, looking down from the sky and into Fornice's eyes.

"The Battlemages? Probably not, but you're going into unknown territory, and a formal guard is a necessity," Fornice said. The two women walked at a leisurely pace around the great statue of Shalidor. The statue conjured up the eternal pillar of Magicka from the blue pool at its feet. On either side of the path, pine tress and snowberry bushes grew from the frigid soil. The foliage offered a peaceful atmosphere to the dawn, and in the college peace was hard to find elsewhere.

"Thank you, Fornice, for everything," Colette said suddenly, embracing the Arch-Mage in a crushing hug. Fornice laughed and gently pushed the woman away.

"I've done nothing, Colette. It was you who healed Mirtil, and it can only be you who heals the Snow Elves. I'm sorry that we haven't always seen eye to eye, but given recent circumstances I'm sure we can move pass it," Fornice said whilst putting her hands on Colette's shoulders.

"Of course we can. You know, Fornice, despite the war I'm glad I'm a part of all this. Only now can I truly accomplish something," Colette said, wiping away a tear.

"Well you won't if you hang around here forever! Come, we need to meet with Mirtil and make our way into Winterhold."

Under the cloister that led to the gates of the college, Mirtil stood radiant in a white fur coat that was reminiscent of the one Thaena gifted her with the previous evening. This one, however, had been dug from the back of Fornice's wardrobe and was complete with blue eye buttons. On Fornice's request, Korir had found Mirtil a strong white horse from the stables that breathed clouds of steam into the cold air. The horse and rider looked resplendent amidst the dull browns of the other steeds. Around Mirtil, two Battlemages made final checks on their gear. Across the courtyard the final remaining students watched eagerly as Fornice and Colette approached the entourage, but most eyes were glued to Mirtil. They whispered and pointed at the Snow Elf who stood tall and proud even in the face of the undue attention.

"Ah, you've arrived. We really must be heading out soon or we won't reach Alftand before dark," Mirtil said with a warm smile.

Colette nodded, and the group mounted their respective horses, and the entourage trotted single file along the narrow bridge.

"Tell me of Blackreach, Mirtil," asked Colette while carefully eyeing where her horse trod on the precarious bridge.

"It's been a long time since I've actually set eyes on it, and I'm sure it's become ruinous since, but I'll tell you what I remember. Blackreach is a colossal cavern deep below the ground. It was the capital of the Dwemer empire here in Skyrim," Mirtil said as a her horse carefully wheeled around a Magicka fountain. She had never seen a horse in her life let alone ridden one, but the horse was well trained, and as long as Mirtil didn't make any sudden movements it would carry her loyally.

"Were the Dwemer of Skyrim separate from those of Morrowind?" asked Fornice curiously.

"Morrowind? At the height of the Dwemer empire there were three very separate kingdoms; Dwemereth, Skyrim and Volunfell."

"Dwemereth is known today as Morrowind, whilst Volunfell is called Hammerfell," Fornice said, remembering her history lessons.

"Ah, yes. I've heard whispers of those places. At the time, relationships between Skyrim and 'Morrowind' were all but non-existent. Whilst Morrowind had a large, united Dwemer presence, Skyrim was fractured into many city-states. The strongest of all of these was Fal'Zhardum Din or Blackreach. Though technically it consisted of four cities, the alliances between them were so strong and the blood so mixed that the four states were essentially one, and each state added something to the strength of Blackreach," Mirtil said.

"What were the states?" asked Colette.

"There was Raldbthar for trade. Its market was the largest of all the states, and commerce flowed through the city like water. Mzinchaleft was the city of war. Its tunnels housed some of the finest and largest armies of all the states, and if there was a threat to any state of Blackreach, Mzinchaleft would always send aid. Alftand was the city of industry. Every Dwemer home contained something made in Alftand from pots and pans to fine jewellery to the war machines of the Dwemer. The greatest craftsmen lived and worked in Alftand. All these cities were connected to Blackreach at their base," Mirtil said almost reminiscent. Fornice mused that to the Falmer these great cities were their saving grace, and there must have been peace between the Falmer and Dwemer, if only for a short while.

"And Alftand is where we're headed now?" asked Colette.

"Yes. It sits partially buried beneath the ice plain to the west and is therefore the nearest entrance to us," Mirtil said.

"What of the fourth state?" asked Fornice.

"That's where the technicalities become confusing. The final state is the cavern of Blackreach itself which is roughly the size of one of your holds. It stretches below Winterhold and The Pale, and even without the other three cities, Blackreach was the largest of all the states. While the four states collectively were known as Blackreach, only that cavern truly held the name," Mirtil explained.

"What was so important about the cavern?" asked Colette.

"You'll find out soon enough," said Mirtil, gesturing forward with her head. Before them was the watchtower that separated the college from the city. The tall stone tower housed both guards and Battlemages, and from the circular window at its peak, a guard leaned out to shout down at the men.

"Look lively, lads, Arch-Mage coming through," he called down, and the men on duty jumped to attention, greeting Fornice with a salute. Fornice nodded at the men as her horse trotted underneath the shadow of the tower and into the daylight of the city.

"Jarl Korir!" Fornice called down the street. Korir turned away from his conversation with Thaena and stood regally with his hands behind his back. Fornice quickened her pace, as did the others, and soon they were dismounting in front of Korir outside the Longhouse.

"May I have the honour of looking upon Queen Mirtil personally?" asked Korir with a smile and an inclination of his head. Mirtil stepped out from behind Fornice and stood tall before Korir. Korir in turn studied Mirtil, taking in her soft face and softer hair. When he was satisfied he bowed deeply.

"Queen Mirtil, you look radiant," he said, straightening himself. Mirtil did not bow.

"Do not forget, Jarl Korir, that twice you have tried to kill me," Mirtil said simply.

"Twice?" Korir asked, still retaining his etiquette and charm.

"She was at Fort Fellhammer, dear," Thaena whispered into his ear.

"Please accept my apologies. I based my decisions on an unfounded view of your race, and I am deeply sorry. I offer you my true friendship," he said without missing a beat.

"Whilst I appreciate your friendship, Jarl Korir, I must state that my loyalties do not lie with you. They lie with Fornice and Colette," she said abruptly.

"I appreciate your wariness, but the college and the city are one and the same. I think we can all agree that loyalty to one means loyalty to the other," Korir said. He didn't instantly expect to win Mirtil as an ally, but he hoped to warm her to the idea.

"The College of Winterhold has proven itself to me, whilst the City of Winterhold has not. Only when it does can we be friends," said Mirtil with a bow. "Now forgive me, Jarl Korir, but we must be getting on our way. I bid you well," said Mirtil curtly.

"Likewise, Queen Mirtil," said Korir with a bow. Mirtil turned away from Korir and looked to Thaena who curtsied smartly.

"I wish you the best of luck on your quest to heal your people, and though you and Winterhold may not be friends, I certainly hope we are," Thaena said genuinely.

"Lady Thaena, of course we are. It is because of you that I'm not denying your husband a chance to prove himself," Mirtil said. "If you were the power in Winterhold then we would be the strongest of allies." Mirtil clutched Thaena's hand as she said this.

"Queen Mirtil, I am Korir's wife. He may not know it, but I already am the power in Winterhold," Thaena said, laughing as she shook Mirtil's hand. Korir stood to the side, his arms crossed, but he let out a small laugh nonetheless.

The farewells and well wishes followed as suit until it was time for Colette and Fornice to say goodbye.

"Arch-Mage Fornice, I don't know when I will see you next, but when I do I will bring an army with me," said Colette whilst gripping Fornice tightly in a hug. Her words were muffled by Fornice's hair, but neither of them cared.

"Colette, you will do me and the college proud. I have no doubt in that. Be safe, my friend," Fornice said.

"And you," replied Colette. She let go of Fornice and wiped tears away from her eyes.

"Now go!" Fornice said, shooing them towards there horses. "You've wasted enough time here as it is."

Mirtil, Colette and the Battlemages mounted their horses once more and turned them towards the mountain path that led behind the Longhouse and into the ice fields. Colette and Mirtil waved at those they were leaving behind until they were out of sight.

"I hope she succeeds," Korir said, turning to Thaena.

"I have every faith in her. That woman deserves more credit than she's given," Thaena said wistfully. "But come, I've been so busy in the college that I've barely seen our son. Take me to him." She linked arms with Korir, and the two of them, as well as their entourage, made their way into the Longhouse. Fornice was left alone on the cold streets of Winterhold. She pondered on her latest friend that had been sucked into the war, and she wished more than anything for it to end.

* * *

It was several hours of hard riding before Mirtil and Colette stopped for a rest, and Colette could not think of a better place. The ruins of Saarthal rose up before her like a distant memory. Its close vicinity to Winterhold had made it the perfect place to study, and around her towered abandoned wooden scaffolding that was constructed over a year ago. The black brick of the ruins reminded her of the dark days that the ruin had unleashed upon the college.

"This place holds memories for us both," said Colette. Mirtil looked at her with a confused expressions. "The Night of Tears. When the Snow Elves burnt Saarthal to ground," Colette explained.

"This is Saarthal? I barely recognised it. When it wasn't a ruin it was an sprawling city built by the early Nords, but they found something down there. Something that should never have been found," Mirtil said, running her hand along the black wall.

"The Eye of Magnus," whispered Colette.

"You know of it?" Mirtil asked with a start.

"We unearthed it, and it only brought death and ruin," Colette said bitterly.

"What happened?" asked Mirtil softly.

"It caused the death of the Arch-Mage and the Master Wizard of the time. It almost destroyed the college and the city, and if it wasn't for Fornice it might have destroyed Skyrim," Colette said, ghosts of the past drifting before her eyes.

"What did she do?"

"An old friend of mine, the Augur of Dunlain, sent her to find the one thing that could stop The Eye; the Staff of Magnus. She saved us all that day, and she was instantly named Arch-Mage. She was just a Destruction student at the time, but everyone agreed she deserved the title."

"I don't like it here. Too much blood has been spilt on this ground, and we are not welcome," Mirtil said suddenly. "We shan't stop again until we reach Alftand," she said and ran over to her horse. The others followed her lead and rode out of Saarthal, but not before Colette cast one last look at the old ruin, and not for the last time she wondered what might have been if things were different.

* * *

"We're close," said Mirtil with glee. She tried to urge her horse to go faster, but the beast was adamant that it knew best and remained at its pace. "Oh well, we'll get there soon enough."

"Mirtil, before we reach Alftand there's something I've been wanting to ask you," Colette said. "Why did you only contact us now? The college has stood for centuries. Why not come to us sooner?"

"The Scroll," replied Mirtil simply and darkly.

"Excuse me?" said Colette, riding up to be next to Mirtil.

"The Elder Scroll."

"I don't understand."

"The Dwemer may have blinded and deformed us using the mushrooms, but it was The Scroll that scrambled our minds. The Dwemer were clever, and deep in the Tower of Mzark they kept an Elder Scroll. To enslave us they cast a dark hex on it, and as long as The Scroll remained in Blackreach, we remained no more than animals," Mirtil spat.

"Then what changed?" asked Colette.

"The Scroll was removed. A year ago a Nord cut his way through Alftand and Blackreach and took The Scroll away. Since that day we have regained much of our minds, and thus we wished to regain more. I don't think the Nord knew what he was doing, but willingly or not he made the Falmer people again," Mirtil said.

Colette was ready to fire off another question, but at that moment the entourage crested a hill, and before them spread the towers of Alftand. Only the metal roofs of 20 golden towers could be seen poking up from a great glacier that cut across the landscape, but they glinted in the sun to create shimmering mirrors of light. The cluster of roofs were split open by a deep chasm that not only split the glacier but the city as well. Alftand was buried beneath snow and ice.

"This cannot be Alftand," Mirtil said in dismay. "We knew the ice had reclaimed it, but we didn't know that the glacier had buried it completely.

"Does it matter? As long as the interior is okay-"

"No, you don't understand," Mirtil cried loudly. "How can we rebuild from this? Even the Snow Elves cannot fight a glacier. When I last saw this place, twenty towers pierced the snow like spears. Their tips shone like a beacon, and each tower was home to a guild of craftsmen," Mirtil said whilst hastily stumbling from her saddle. She ran through the snow, the entourage chasing after her, and she ended her run at the lip of the chasm. She looked down at the ruined towers below and around her. Strewn at the bottom of the chasm were entire toppled towers, almost perfect in their construction still, but their foundations had given way.

"Queen Mirtil, the Dwemer are gone, and if I were you I would be glad that the memory of them was disappearing," Colette said, trying to comfort her.

"Do you think I give a damn about the Dwemer and their memory? I hope they're rotting in Oblivion, but I had great dreams, Colette. I had dreams of the Snow Elf Empire rising from the cities of our former masters. I had dreams of Skyrim and Tamriel watching in silence as the the new Snow Elves hung their banners from glittering towers and beautiful cities. I had dreams of the Snow Elves growing strong and prosperous once more," Mirtil wailed, kicking loose rocks into the great chasm.

"That can and will happen, but it will just take more work than you thought. Maybe Alftand will never fully recover, but Mzinchaleft and Raldbthar might still stand strong, and regardless of the state of their cities, the entire world will watch as the great cavern of Blackreach becomes the new stronghold of the Snow Elves. Everyone from the Argonians in deepest marsh to the Emperor of Cyrodiil with have their eye on Skyrim when the Snow Elves come back from the dead. If Blackreach can be saved, then so can the Snow Elves," Colette said, putting her hand on Mirtil's shoulder.

Mirtil took several slow breaths before brushing down her coat and standing tall once more. "This is not befitting of a queen," she said simply, and she turned her back on the ruins of Alftand. "Colette, follow me. We shall see how Blackreach stands after these last few millennia." Mirtil led Colette and the others to a large bronzed gate that was part of one of the few structures that still pierced the ice. Complex runes covered the gate and the grey stone that it sat in, and Colette had to fight the temptation to ask for a translation, and she watched in silence as Mirtil threw open the gates to reveal a large circular stone room. The only item of note was a bronzed lever in its centre. Mirtil walked purposefully into the room, beckoning for the others to follow. "The horses too," she said as one of the Battlemages tried to tie his to the gate. It was a tight squeeze, but after the other Battlemage managed to push Mirtil's horse into the room, Mirtil shut the gates and pushed her way to the centre. "Everyone, brace yourselves."

"For what?" Colette asked, but Mirtil had already grabbed the lever and wrenched it towards her.

Colette shrieked as the floor fell from beneath her feet. The others in the lift except for Mirtil did the same, and the horses whinnied desperately in fright. The lift wasn't particularly fast, but it was much too close to falling for anyone's comfort.

In a matter of minutes it was over, and as the bronze gates flew open, Colette sprinted from the lift and fell upon the soft dirt floor. She lay on her back with her eyes closed, taking in big gulping breaths as she tried to recover from the lift. As her stomach settled, she slowly opened her eyes to see Mirtil walking slowly towards her, a glazed look on her face. Colette opened her mouth for some witty remark about the lift, but Mirtil walked right passed her. With furrowed brows, Colette looked at what could capture Mirtil's attention, and her mouth fell open.

"The Falmer can be saved," whispered Mirtil to herself as her lips stretched to form a gleeful smile. The vaulted ceiling of Blackreach towered above her to unimaginable heights. The roof of the cavern could barely be seen through the clouds of fluorescent spores that shot from the shining blue, purple and green mushrooms that hung from the cavern roof. Their bulbous heads were like glowing clouds, and the long tendrils which hung from them were lightning bolts, shooting down onto the cavern floor. The spores filled the air with the smell of sea spray, and Mirtil breathed in a deep breath. This was her home. Pillars of stone supported the ceiling, many of which were wrapped in the glowing mushrooms which filled the entire cavern with an ethereal light. Mirtil's gaze moved lower, and she sighed contentedly at the Dwemer buildings that dotted the landscape, most of which were in impeccable condition.

"Why does everything in the place glow?" asked Colette, standing next to Mirtil.

"The Dwemer knew cultivation just as well as they knew technology. Sure, these mushrooms were here before the Dwemer were, but never in these numbers, and never this big," said Mirtil, slowly walking deeper into the cavern. Her boots padded on the soft earth that made up the floor of the cavern. The dirt was broken only by the occasional rock or a cluster of mushrooms, and so she stopped suddenly when her feet made a _tak_ sound. She looked at the ground, and the brown earth had been replaced by gold cobbles that shone in the pale blue light. She looked up to see the cobbled road wind its way through the mushroom clusters until it disappeared under a grey arched building that straddled the road. "Come, we need to follow the road," said Mirtil to her entourage who lazily stepped their way through the cavern, drinking in all the sights and sounds.

"Look," gasped Colette, pointing to several figures on the road. "Falmer." Hearing Colette's shrill voice, the hunched figures turned and scurried down the road.

"We must have been heard exiting the lift. I gave the order for all Falmer to head to the Silent City on my return," Mirtil said, hastening her step.

"The Silen-"

"You'll see," Mirtil said cheerily.

The march continued in its uneventful way. Occasionally, someone would spot one of the elusive Falmer, but they would always disappear into shadows or around corners without a sound. At some point,a river appeared which ran parallel with the road, and the rushing waters roared their way through the cavern.

"Seriously, why does _everything_ glow?" asked Colette, pointing to the river. The water was the same blue as the pale mushrooms and had a milky quality to it. "Are there mushrooms in the water?"

"Close. It's the spores," Mirtil explained. " The water's saturated with them, as well as the river bed. That's what makes the river glow as well as give it that murky milky quality." Mirtil spotted the concerned look on Colette's face. "Oh, don't worry I'm sure it's harmless. These mushrooms aren't the same ones that the Dwemer poisoned us with."

"Still..." Colette said nervously.

"I'm sure we can find a filtration device somewhere," Mirtil said reassuringly. She turned her head away from the river and continued her walk down the gold cobbled road. Her hand brushed idly against a mushroom tendril, and the entire 100 foot mushroom quivered from root to tip.

"The Silent City," boasted Mirtil as the entourage rounded a corner of the road and stared at the provincial centre of Blackreach. A great grey fortress loomed in front of them with impenetrable walls that enclosed the squat, square city. Towers rose up from within the thick walls, and Colette mused that the Dwemer had decided to build the city upwards and not outwards. To any outsider, the city would look more like a palace or fortress, but Mirtil knew that thousands could be housed in the towers and halls of the Silent City.

"What is that?" asked Colette, pointing to the most impressive feature of the city.

"It is the sun, or at least the Dwemer's imitation of it," said Mirtil, and it truly was like a sun. An imposingly large sphere of orange flame hung from the ceiling encased in an intricate cage of wrought iron which cast latticed shadows across the city. Long shadows ran from the city towards the entourage, as the sun caused the towers to engulf them in their shadow.

The entourage made their way towards the city and across a wide stone bridge that spanned a deep chasm. The murky blue water raced far below, casting a shimmering light on the underside of the bridge. A narrow tunnel channelled through the walls of the Silent City, and Mirtil's voice echoed along its length as she passed under its shadow.

"This is where I'll address my people, and where your work shall begin," said Mirtil. "I hope you're ready."

They emerged from the tunnel into complete silence. Thousands of pale faces stared at them without making a sound, their bodies clustered together to fill every available space between the towers and amongst them. Falmer covered the floor as well as poked from windows and holes in the towers, and they spanned the criss-crossed walkways that reached between the towers, hundreds of feet from the ground. They remained silent even as Mirtil turned to her left, gathered her coat, and ascending a set of wide stone steps that led to the top of the wall. Falmer along the steps parted for mer, man and horse as the the heavy sound of boots on stone echoed across the city. They reached the walls, and the Falmer cleared a large ring for them. Mirtil dropped her coat, turned to face the gathered masses, and began to talk.

"My people, you cannot see me, but I am healed. Your queen is no longer the twisted product of the Dwemer's cruelty." At this, the Falmer started a low hiss of anger until it reverberated across the city. "Yes, we have suffered at their hand for millennia, but their reign of cruelty has come to an end. I turned to our ancient enemy for held; the Nords, and, my people, they have changed. The people of Winterhold healed me. You cannot see me, but I have returned with hope and a way to save us all. You cannot see me, but I bring with me the chance for the Snow Elves to return in glory. You cannot see me, but I promise that the power used to heal me can be used to heal you too. You cannot see me, but soon, very soon, you will," Mirtil said with the fire and passion befit of her station. The Falmer roared with approval, screeching and cackling, leaping and running until the illusion of the Silent City was utterly destroyed. "Now go, my people. Return to the tasks that have been set. Prepare for the return of the Snow Elves, and rejoice in the fact that the time is at hand." With even more noise, the Falmer scattered into the towers or out the city completely. Colette rushed to the other side of the wall to watch the countryside fill with pale bodies, scurrying to and fro between rocks, mushrooms and buildings.

"That went well," Mirtil said with a smile. "Now your work begins. How do you plan to heal 10,000 people?"

Colette stared over the vast expanse of the cavern and sighed. "I don't know. I can't heal them one at a time, even if I did have a conduit such as the tear. I would need something very powerful and very large."

"This entire cavern holds power," Mirtil said, breathing in deeply. "The power I felt from the tear I feel throughout Blackreach."

"If I can determine the source of that power, then I can use it. Do you know what it might be?" asked Colette.

"No," she said simply.

"Then I better get started," Colette said and ran back down the steps.

* * *

Colette sat in the stone chamber that had been put aside for her. It rested high up one of of the tallest towers in the Silent City, and she sat on the cold sill and stared out the wide window into the city below. Books and papers were scattered across the floor, their pages showing scribbled writing and intricate diagrams. Maps and ancient runes plastered the walls, but Colette could not stand to look at them for a single moment longer. Instead, she watched processions of Falmer pull carts filled with rock and ore into a large squat warehouse. Orange light sprayed from the windows, and the sound of hammers on anvils echoed up to Colette's tower. There was a knock at her door. With a sigh she heaved herself from the sill and walked across the room to heave open the heavy metal door. One of her Battlemage guards stood there with a tray of food. He was a hulking Nord in polished steel armour, and Colette got the feeling her knew how to wield a sword better than throw a spell.

"For you, ma'am," he said kindly and handed over the tray. "I'm not sure what it is, but I hope it's to your liking," he said.

"Thank you. Is it really necessary to guard my door at all times?"

"It is, ma'am. I know the college hierarchy is different to noble ones, but I see you as a lady, and a lady needs knights to protect her," he said warmly.

"Do you see yourself as a knight then?"

"I do, ma'am."

"Then by all means, sir," she said with a childish bow and giggle. "Guard my door if you wish, but try not to overdo it," Colette said with a smile.

"Of course, ma'am," he said, and Colette closed the door. She placed the tray on the large empty table in the centre of the room and made a nose at the dish. It was comprised of an assortment of mushrooms and a white meat she couldn't identify. She sniffed the carafe of wine, decided it was good, and dug some bread and cheese from her saddle bag. Resuming her seat at the window, her mind wondered back to her work.

"Throughout Blackreach? How can it be everywhere?" she asked herself. "If it were a Dwemer machine then there'd be a focus point, but the power is spread throughout the cavern. There's got to be something I'm missing," she whispered. As she contemplated, a single glowing spore floated through the window and landed on the back of her hand. She brushed it away onto the sill, but her mind had already begun to work. Picking up the spore with a pair of tweezers, she channelled through it the weakest fire spell she knew. Her face lit up with glee as the spore glowed white hot for a split second before fizzing into a black ash that stuck to the tweezers. She had found her source.

* * *

"Are you sure this will work?" asked Mirtil quietly as Colette stood in a vast field with her sleeves rolled up. Before them spread the masses of Falmer, shuffling and mumbling to each other.

"Yes," Colette said confidently. "I'll need silence for this."

Mirtil nodded to the mage. "Silence!" she shouted over the masses who instantly stood stock still. "Our mage needs to begin," she said.

Colette gathered the now familiar spell around her and focused it into her hands. With deep concentration she focused it into a single spore that fluttered in front of her face. The spore stopped its slow descent and glowed with the white light of magic. It began to fizz and sputter and jump around the air with spontaneous excitement. Any additional spores it touched began to do the same, and within minutes she was surrounded by countless thousands of dancing lights, like stars come down from the sky. The Falmer were lost to her amongst the sea of lights, and Colette held the spell until she began to feel her body weaken. With a flourish of her hands, the lights were once more the now mundane blue spores that carried on with their graceful floating.

"It worked!" Mirtil gasped in shock. Before her, thousands of new white faces laughed and danced around each other. Their voices were no longer shrieks but melodies. Mothers hugged husbands and children, and lovers embraced each other with glee. "The Falmer are saved," she shouted, grabbing Colette and hugging her tightly. "We will _never_ forget this," she said and let go of Colette and turned towards her people. "Did I not promise you this salvation?" she called out.

"Yes!" Chorused the response, along with a great many cheers.

"Did I not tell you that the Snow Elves will return?"

"Yes!" Both Mirtil and the Falmer were becoming increasingly more frantic.

"Did I not promise glory and power?"

"Yes!"

"Then go, my people, go and make our ancestors proud. There will be plenty of time to celebrate, but for now we must work to achieve greatness. Mine for ore, man the forges, repair the buildings, and make Blackreach the greatest nation on Tamriel!" Mirtil ended, punching the air. She was met with a chorus of cheers and shouts of jubilation that lasted for several minutes, and Colette and the Battlemages applauded as loudly as the others.

Finally, the roar began to die down, and the Falmer began to disperse, staring at the sights of Blackreach as they went, but three stayed behind.

"My lords," Mirtil said, bowing deeply. "It is wonderful to finally see you as you should be."

"And you, my queen," said the central man. He was aged to the point of frailty, and a long white beard rolled down his body. He bowed as well as he could, and the other two younger men did the same. "Shall we adjourn to the Hall of Rumination? There is much for us to discuss."

"And Gronk?" asked Mirtil.

"Waiting inside," replied the old man.

"Then let us not waste any more time," said Mirtil, and she gestured for Colette to follow as the group walked away.

* * *

"Gronk, this is Colette; the woman who saved us," said Mirtil as she stood in the Hall of Rumination.

"Yo-you're a giant," stammered Colette as she stared at the 20 feet of hulking flesh and muscle.

Gronk laughed a deep laugh from his belly, and the sound reverberated from the room. "Gronk is glad to meet the lady." He spoke gruffly and deeply and extended a meaty hand which engulfed Colette's own hand. She yelped as Gronk gave it a violent shake, but he let go and sat in large throne made from wood and tattered animal skins.

"Gronk's tribe found themselves in Blackreach many years ago while trying to escape hunters. In exchange for their loyalty we provide them with food and shelter," Mirtil explained. She moved over to the centre of the room where a stone basin held a large pool of crystal clear water. Several stone chairs and Gronk's throne surrounded the pool, and Mirtil took a seat in one of them. Colette and the three lords did the same.

"First of all, some introductions are in order," Mirtil said. "Everyone, this is Colette of the College of Winterhold. She was the one who healed us."

The three lords bowed their heads to her. "We are forever grateful," said one of the younger ones.

"And forever in your debt," added the other.

"Colette, Lord Engwe of Alftand," said Mirtil, gesturing to the aged Falmer.

"An honour," Colette said.

"Lord Serenarth of Raldbthar." Lord Serenarth was a serious looking man in thin, tattered black robes and slicked back white hair. The pleasantries were repeated.

"And Lord Darin of Mzinchaleft." Lord Darin wore a full set of thick chitin armour. A warrior for sure.

"It is my pleasure to meet all of you," said Colette. "And it is a great honour to be of service to you."

"Though your service comes at a price," said Lord Serenarth, idly pulling a loose thread from his robe.

"Yes, my lord, it does. As Winterhold helped the Falmer, so too must the Falmer help Winterhold," said Colette.

"'Must' we?" asked Lord Serenarth, leaning forward.

"Yes, we must," said Mirtil forcefully. "We owe them a great deal, and I have given them my word."

"If my queen wills it," said Lord Serenarth after a short pause, bowing his head in humility.

"Lady Colette, Queen Mirtil has informed us that soldiers are required, but why?" asked the elderly Lord Engwe.

"My people are in trouble, my lord. Skyrim today is split into 9 holds or states as you might want to refer to them. Winterhold, my home, is one such hold. It is desolate and weak, and the other 8 holds have seen fit to destroy us for crimes we did not commit. Skyrim is led by a tyrannical queen, and if we are to save my home, then her reign or life must end," Colette said with passion and power.

"I cannot sit here while our nation prospers and theirs declines," said Mirtil. "I have promised them 1000 soldiers, and I will deliver. Will you join me in helping our allies?"

There was silence around the table as the lords contemplated the offer. Engwe's skeletal fingers laced together in thought in front of his face. The silence was broken as Gronk suddenly slammed his foot on the ground, causing the room to shake and the pool of water to ripple.

"Gronk has men who want to leave the ground. They want the air. Gronk is giving the lady 3 of his giants," he said in his booming voice.

"Thank you, Gronk," said Mirtil pleasantly.

"Giants would be a welcome addition to Winterhold's army," said Colette. "I thank you, Gronk."

"The lady is welcome."

"I will support this cause," said the now more humble Serenarth. "I will not allow this debt to go unpaid. You have done us a great service, but I do not have many soldiers under my command. Mine is a farming and mining community, so I shall share my resources as well as my creatures."

"Creatures, my lord?" Colette asked curiously.

"Ah, yes, you are not familiar with our ways. The Falmer keep several deep dwelling creatures as pets and beasts of labour. The frostbite spider can grow to the size of a horse, and its poison is deadly to most. The chaurus are giant insects that are harvested for their chitin," he said, gesturing to Lord Darin. "And their bite can be fatal, and the chaurus hunter is the winged offspring of the regular chaurus. They attack with the same poison, and I'm sure an ally that can fly will be useful to your cause," he said.

Colette thought for a moment before nodding her head. "I have encountered all those creatures in my travels, and I know how deadly they can be. They will be a welcome addition, Lord Serenarth."

"And I," piped up the now excited Lord Engwe. "Will grant you a score of my mages."

"My lord, though I appreciate your generosity, Winterhold has a surplus of mages as it is," Colette said with as much politeness as she could.

"My lady, I know of your 'College of Winterhold,' and its power, but you do not know the magics of the Snow Elves. We are the gifted of Auri-El. We know the power of the very sun itself, and it is devastating power indeed," he said, wagging a finger at Colette.

"Then, my lord, I graciously accept your gift," she said whilst bowing her head.

The congregation all turned to face Lord Darin who had remained silent throughout the entire meeting. He drew out the silence as long as he could before leaning forward, pushing his scarred face closer to Colette's

"My question to you," he said in a low voice. "Is why should the Falmer's first act as a nation be war? Will it not antagonise us to the rest of Skyrim?"

"Not if we win," said Colette. "If we are victorious then the annals of history will be ours to write, and the Rise of the Snow Elves will be a song of glory sang throughout Tamriel, my lord," Colette said. Mirtil took a moment to study Colette, surprised at her aptitude to diplomacy.

"If we refuse aid and you win, then we will be known as traitors and cowards," said Darian slowly and thoughtfully. "If we refuse aid and you lose, then we'll most likely see the same outcome. Nord honour and all that, and we're not allied with Skyrim either, after all. If we help you and you lose then we'll face a bloody attack from Skyrim," and here he paused. "If we help you, and you win, then the Falmer will thrive under a friendship with Skyrim, and what you say will come true." He sat back in his chair and became silent once more.

"It sounds to me, Lord Darin, that there's only one course of action," said Mirtil.

"My queen, indeed there is. I pledge my soldiers, Lady Colette. 1000 of them."

The others gathered round the pool stared at Lord Darin in shock, who sat in his seat with a smirk on his lips. Colette and Mirtil exchanged glances before Mirtil leaned towards Lord Darin.

"My lord, I have all of Blackreach under my reign as well as your cities, and even I can only stretch to 1000 soldiers. You truly want to send out almost every soldier under your command?" Mirtil said.

"Was I not clear, my queen? This course of action requires Winterhold to win, and I intend to do everything I can to ensure it happens."

"Lord Darin, you are a true friend to Winterhold," Colette said, standing up. "You all are. With the aid you give, Winterhold may yet come through this victorious, however time is of the essence. How long until we can move to the surface?"

"A week," Mirtil said. "Preparations for a standing army have been under way for quite some time, and the weapons, armour and stores are almost ready. We just need to add a few things that we couldn't do whilst blind," Mirtil said.

"Then we best get to it," piped up Lord Engwe. "Winterhold is waiting."


End file.
